Fury
by SteinMon1920518
Summary: (A vague mashup of HTTYD/Venom) Specimens, "Dragons", need a host, a symbiotic bond that is either parasitic or mutualistic, to survive. For the recently escaped "Hel-Spawn", the perfect host is found in a less-than ideal young man with more to him than meets the eye. Rated M to be safe (Trigger Warnings in Prologue)(Snail to Slow Burn Hiccstrid, no slash)(Modern AU) {temp. Hiatus}
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Hey guys! SteinMon here with another literary experiment. This is less a prompt from my friends and more of a 'Brain Blast' that happened to me a couple of weeks ago.

I would like to personally thank Fanfic writers "_harrypanther_" (for his/her amazing stories striking the tinder of my imagination), "_Myricle_" (for his/her Sci-fi HTTYD fic "_Rider of Lightning and Metal_" that drew me into the possibility of sci-fi'ing this fic, "_Midoriko-sama_" (and his/her "_Becoming_" Universe for reminding me that some characters need a little romance too), and... yeah mainly those three, but there were a lot of other authors along the way that helped me build up to this. Without all of them, the synapses in my brain wouldn't have fired in the write order (pun intended).

This story was more of an accident. Two thoughts collided, Google and Fanfiction was searched, and I was disappointed that I didn't find the content I wanted. Rather than bother someone else to write it for me, I decided to take it into my own hands. No one asked for this Fic, but I wanted it.

**WARNING!:** This story is closer to a mashup, and is certainly not a cross-over. This is completely set up with HTTYD in mind, but with a little Venom flair to it (albeit with several tweaks). As a mashup, things will not always be in alignment with the movies or series. Characters, while very much familiar, will act and behave different. This is a Modern AU with hints of Sci-Fi. Things _will_ play out differently simply for those two reasons. People will react differently, have different views, and events won't be wholesale to the media it came from. Please respect that I'm trying to be realistic within the realms of a completely imaginary world and scenario.

_**Trigger**_** Warnings: **This addition is being added out of respect to the readers. _Fury_ possess, and will possess, a large amount of Military Violence and some of these scenes result in death. If another Trigger Warning comes to mind, I will post it here first-and-foremost to forewarn future readers what may appear in future chapters, so be sure to check this page whenever a new chapter comes out; but I will attempt to remember and post it at the beginning of a Chapter if one or more triggers are present. Be warned that many major plot details can coincide with these trigger warnings, and I have not yet found a way around it as my particular writing style connects events back and forth across the story. Because there is a vast wealth of characters in the HTTYD universe, many of these aspects will not apply solely to the main characters listed, but to other characters present as well. Apologies in advance, and I ask you read responsibly with this foreknowledge in mind.

Thank you _"Anonymous Noob the 2nd"_ for pointing this out to me, as I was ignorant to its purpose and existence until a short time ago.

That being said, I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I am here to learn.

Disclaimer: I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person.

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

Prologue:

One might think that a single, solitary man-made island caught somewhere in the middle of Nowhere and Sullen was enough. That barbed wire chain-link fences, reinforced titanium doors, organized security details, advanced monitoring systems, and multi-spectrum search lights would be sufficient. That classified information, restricted access, secure facilities, elevator shafts that stretched into concrete until they faded into the seabed far below, or maybe the advanced air circulation system and volcanic geothermal-powered generators that kept the most hidden and secretive of complexes functioning was in-fact, just for show.

Anyone who was ignorant of the island structure's true purpose would have nothing to assume, because there was nothing remotely interesting about anything that transpired on the surface of the island. Anyone who did know however, knew that the surface was just a cover; it's visible gravel coast, shrubby base, and strange pine forest was normal, so no one could be curious about it for long, before it faded into the background. But worse, anyone who had so much as an inclination to what transpired below, their lives were forfeit, either by pen or by steel.

One might think that extreme measures were over-reactions, decisions based entirely in currency-lined pockets and protected interests. However, those measures could only be more appreciated when the klaxons suddenly droned to life. To anyone who happened to catch wind of the emergency, it would appear that a malfunction or hitch had transpired in the facility's new and breakthrough experimental energy power testing; just as the public-at-large had been led to believe. However, below the surface…

…Red lights strobed as they rotated in emerged lights on the wall, as if the obnoxious and broken buzzing of alert alarms weren't enough to catch anyone's attention. The only thing that could possibly add to the sense of warning would be flashing signs that spelled "ALERT", "CAUTION!", or "DANGER!"–

–Wait! Nope. Those were present too. In clubs and spades.

_"__WARNING! Containment breached!"_ the droning robotic female prerecording proclaimed, as if to add to the already intense and self-explanatory situation, but thankfully, with an added bit of information. _"Lab Sector: __Sigurðr; Lockdown Commenced!"_

As if in stereotypical fashion, boots _clopped_ down the halls as hefty and burly security personal made for the breached area a little too quickly, with varying calibers and weapons in hand, pointed off to the side as they jogged. The halls were deep underground, ten-feet high and stark white, but darkened by the lack of light the LED tubes would normally light the place with. They are instead replaced by a red-light; blare still revealing that the facilities were far too advanced for a normal installation, but the troops marched on. By the time they approached the sealed lab door, it was clear something had happened. The darkened smear that strobed on the other side of triple-layered bullet-resistant plexiglass attested to that.

They quickly set up. Three columns along the walls: left, center, and right; the columns slightly askew to prevent any expended bullet shells that were undoubtedly going to fly from smacking the man next to them in the face. The front runners of each row laid down, bending their bipods into place before they double checked to make sure that their long-barreled Heavy Machine Guns (HMG's) were cocked and primed. The second row knelt, wrapping their support arm in the shoulder straps of their Assault Rifles for stability as their elbows nestled gently into their knee as a prop, likewise checking to make sure that their weapons were ready and functional. The third row was akin to the second, save for their standing positions. There was a fourth row, two men standing in the gap between each column that allowed them ample room to fire their grenade launchers with a clear line of sight to the door. Standing slightly back from the group as a whole, the last of them put a finger to his earpiece.

"This is Yak Tippers to Great Hall, we're in position."

_"__Roger, Yak Tip. Mics are clear, and audio feed is good,"_ the call came through.

"Roger. Cameras clear?" the leader asked, referring to the slightly reflective lens on the side of every head-encompassing helmet present.

_"__Twelve extra eyes, all crystal,"_ "Great Hall" confirmed. _"Biometrics are also looking good. Keep your heads about you in there Yak Tip."_

"Stats?"

_"__Unknown. Specimen's containment unit was breached. Unknown cause, but we're not pickin' up anything. Cameras are down along with the sweeps, and as far as we can tell, no personal present, but that don' mean nothin'. Still, proceed with caution."_

"Which "Specimen", if I may ask, sir?" There was a pregnant pause in the line; a sign that didn't bode well for any man present as they glanced at each other in their peripherals, but unable to meet each other's eyes due to the darkened lenses of their specialized helmets.

_"__The Hel-spawn,"_ was the final answer. All men present shifted uncomfortably, their uniforms creaking lightly. And that was fine. There was no shame in that. Not when it concerned _that_ specimen. _"Keep your armor tight. It's the same procedure as always: non-lethal neutralization. We'll 'ave a re-containment team standin' by once you've confirmed it's down."_

"C-copy," their leader shuddered slightly, before shaking his head. He quickly turned to the grenadiers, "Alright. You know the drill. Make sure you use the DR gas. And for Tyr's sake, don't mix up the canisters again!"

The grenadiers quickly popped open their launchers, double and triple checking that their payloads were the proper ones before loading their weapons, giving simple nods when they were ready.

"Alright "Great Hall", remove the lockdown on the lab," he directed. The strobing lights ceased in an instant, along with the klaxons, alarms, and flashing signs, revealing just how bright the walls were as the lights shined back on. To their open worry, the lights inside the lab didn't turn on. Within moments, they heard the thick blast-pressure hybrid doors hiss as they decompressed, slowly opening upward. Weapons _click_ed slightly as all men present aimed down their sights where light met the dark, prepared to fire at anything that moved. "Alright, smoke it out!"

A pair of loud _thum!_s shot from the launchers as a pair of canisters flew into the darkened lab, each man following the sound of them _clack_ing against the floor as they rolled, followed by the _hiss_ of the released pale green gas.

They watched and waited as the gas began to billow around, not sure what they should be hoping for in this situation: an unconscious subject for them to find, or for it to leap from the gas just so opening fire would give them something to do other than wait in impatience for something, anything to happen! It took two men to gas the whole room, so it didn't make a lick of sense to send a squad of twelve.

"Soooo… do you guys wanna play _Call of Duty_ after this? Teams: Vikings versus Romans?" one of them asked as he tapped his trigger guard, earning a chorus of brief but enthusiastic agreements.

They waited a few more moments, being sure to let the gas do it's work as they mentally prepared to annihilate each other over digital avatars, certain that their work was already done. It was only once the gas had cleared slightly that their team lead spoke up. "Alright, move in. Search the room. Once it's found, we'll wait for the re-containment team to pick it up. Confirm Great Hall."

_"__Confirmed."_

The grenadiers stood back, knowing that their current weapons were less than ideal for the confined space as the assault crews went in, guns lax, but held cautiously as they filed in from their positions. The room was still dark, wisps of the gas still lingering in some areas, but unable to affect them with their masked helmets on; not that it would harm them anyway. It wasn't made to subdue humans.

"Lights!"

A series of lights flashed on from their helmets, beaming into the darkened lab as they searched for their quarry. All they found was the aftermath of whatever had escaped its containment. It was a true lab, beakers of many shapes and sizes littered the counters; many knocked over, former contents spilled, and glass shattered. The vials and vial shelves were much the same way. Off at one end of the room, a large centrifuge was caved in, its components beyond repair or salvage.

Overall, it looked ransacked, paperwork flung about in all directions, folders and contents spread amidst the broken glass. Even a microscope was tossed across the room. The only thing that truly stood out to the team lead however, was the opened cylindrical containment vessel, its metal rimmed glass revealing it had once held something surprisingly small.

"Great Hall, this is Yak Tippers Leader," he said slowly, concentrated on a peculiar detail on the container.

_"Go ahead, Yak Tip Leader."_

"Confirm visual on my cams." _"Confirmed."_

"Notice the container? Opened. Not broken," one of his gloved hands point out this discovery. "These use compression-sealed locks and it's just open?"

_"__We're noting it now Yak Tip Leader. Let us know if you find anything else."_ He didn't like the fact that "Great Hall" had sounded somewhat worried.

They had spread out, the near solid streams of LED light turning this way and that while the team searched for further evidence… and for the specimen. There were more than enough stations to search. Yak Tippers Leader was particularly invested in checking the other two containment vessels that were also in the lab. The sight alone would have scared the living daylights out of normal people. But they weren't normal. None of them were. They were Vikings through and through.

A strange, dark purple hued liquid sloshed around in one of the sealed containers, looking like some strange cross between glossed putty and congealed oil, shimmering as his headlamp passed over it. He placed a gloved hand over the observation glass, testing for a potential reaction.

The glob shot out at the glass with a _thump_ as it hit, sensing his proximity, small tendrils of it splattering against the glass as if testing for a weakness. It writhed and waved as the strange liquid seemed to move around in its container, crawling as though it were a million insects that could only move as one unit, small tendrils shooting out as it pulled itself along, feeling around its limited environment as if it were blind. When no escape seemed possible, small blue arcs of electricity passed over it in its anger.

The second was much like the first, if not for the slightly different color sheen that caught the light. Gentle hues of sky-blue crossing with veins of almost gold as it writhed. Yak Tip Leader snorted slightly as it followed the path of the first, searching for a way out of its cage, small pointed pieces of itself deflecting off the glass as it whipped its tendrils. There was nothing "gentle" about _any_ of them.

"Hey! We found someone!"

Yak Tippers Leader swung around at the proclamation, most of the team already closing in on the source. Others curbed their curiosity and continued to search the lab. He'd have to commend them for keeping a professional head about them. He quickly made his way over, his own status as leader requiring him to catalog and confirm the encounter with Great Hall.

"Gods," one of his men commented, a glove covering his mask, though without clear sight to his face, their leader couldn't tell if he was sick or just trying to scratch the bushy beard all of them had. Perhaps both.

The sight was grizzly indeed. What was once a person was something… else. By the lab coat, the person was obviously a lab technician, but nothing revealed him as human except for a bloodied security tag that labeled the body as "Bjorn Balderson". Half his bones seemed to be broken one way or another, his limbs bent unnaturally this way or that, turning any visible flesh a mix between black and dark purple as if his whole body had become one large contusion from the trauma as capillaries took damage. Drying, but sticky blood seeped from every visible orifice, including from around the eyes and ears, and around the corners of a mouth opened in agony, the jaw looking slightly askew as if one side had been pulled from its proper place, the remains of a former beard laying shriveled and white on his chest.

The skin was taunt and loose, as if the body had been drained of fat or muscle, still somewhat filled, but just short of skeletal all the same. Underneath the large shirt that covered the torso, it was concaved around the gut, only the imagination giving way to what might have happened to his internal organs, and no man present was keen to see the autopsy.

A shudder ran through all those who viewed the body, the silence grave and suffocating, even for men as bold as them.

"Spread out," the leader said, unable to fully trust his voice as he forced himself to turn away. "Look for the specimen. The DR gas will have knocked it out, so be careful. And whatever you do, don't make contact with it.

"You capture all that?" Great Hall was silent for a moment before he heard, _"More th'n we wan'ed to. Confirmed."_ Even Great Hall seemed shaken by the recorded sight they received.

Grim nods circulated as they went to do what was ordered. One of the greener men stumbled away hastily, lifting his mask to vomit on the floor, another soldier patting him comfortingly on the back. No one could really blame him. It was always gruesome to see how people died; more so at the hands of any of those… creatures. But the _Hel-spawn_ was its own unique brand of horrifying. The leader had seen a couple of the coroner reports of the few volunteer host-subjects. He could barely make it past the description of the long list of bodily damage and broken parts; it was all so intense and varied, the coroners still didn't know what the cause of death had been, though the suspected "cause" pointed to acute-rapid brain atrophy. And that had just been rejection. This here… it was worse to see a "rejected" subject in person. A visual was worth a million more words than a coroner report could fit, and yet only one word simplified it all down: gruesome.

He heard a _clink_, immediately turning to the source of the sound with a sudden burst of adrenaline, his weapon raised without hesitation. It had come from one of the lab counters, his light sweeping over it for a glimpse of movement, only to spy a series of surprisingly untouched beakers and vials, considering the overall state of the darkened room. He swallowed, his breath hitching and deepening as his heart accelerated to accommodate the gods-given sense of self-preservation.

It was only natural. While reason said the DR gas should have given them a couple hours to locate the specimen, the display they had just seen was enough to send his body into a mild panic. He couldn't fully lose control, however. He was leader, so he needed to do just that: lead.

He approached the lab counter-top, weapon still poised as he began to breath easier. It was messy, but a few things stood out, such as the a few personal notes that he could only suspect to be about the specimens. He quietly brushed a couple aside, none of them looking familiar until he came across "Subject-Specimen MC-6211825". The notes seemed broken up, somewhat gibberish, as though the weight of cataloging it was enough to drive a man mad.

"Size-Unknown," he read quietly to himself, finding the pieces that seemed to be in plain Norse given the rest looked more like panicked scrawls. "Type-Unknown. Power-Unknown. Subject Preference-Unknown. Bonding Process-Instant Rejection, Violent; Five Attempts, Five Dead. Bonding Factors-Unknown." He paused as he looked at the next set of words, shaking slightly they were large and took up the middle of a page. "Subject is Highly Intelligent, Self-Aware, and Violent. Recommend Ceasing All Further Testing On Specimen." The underlined words somewhat enlarged, as if the point hadn't been made.

He looked at the relatively untouched counter, barely aware of his own men, except for the lad that was still dry heaving his guts out, having probably emptied his stomach contents already. There was no amount of comfort he could provide anyway. He'd have to deal with it on his own, like a proper Viking.

As he turned back, his headlight caught something strange, prompting him to turn back. One of the beakers had what looked like used motor oil in it, black as night; but that wasn't what caught his attention. The beaker was upside-down… and the substance was sticking to the "bottom" of the enclosed glass.

_'__Highly Intelligent.'_ The thought flashed across his mind as realization dawned. They hadn't found it unconscious in the room… because the bastard had found a way to prevent the gas from affecting it. But… how-?

His thoughts were interrupted as his apparent staring at the beaker caused a shift. The "oil" dropped, swiftly squelching out from under the beaker. He only had time to raise his hand as it launched at him, wrapping around and through his fingers in a way that reminded him of a snake. He yelped in reaction, just as quickly flicking his hand in a random direction.

Time seemed to slow as he realized his mistake. Everyone had turned to see the source of the noise. And he had flicked the specimen away. Normally, their armor and suites were designed to deter the specimens from soaking through to the flesh they _so_ seemed to be drawn to. But the creature was smart. As it landed on the ground, the black thing immediately launching at the exposed face of the lad who had been heaving as he barely had time to blink.

The specimen took less than two seconds to soak in through his mouth, nose, eyes, skin, flawlessly integrating itself into his body rapidly. The man who had been patting his back in comfort didn't have time as a gun was lift to his head, and the trigger pulled.

_BANG!_

Suddenly it was chaos as blood, bone, and grey matter splattered.

_'__Highly Intelligent.'_ That thought repeated itself as the Yak Tipper Leader dived away and behind a counter, hearing bullets smacking into the cupboards where his head had been. _'How?'_ Where did it get the context? To hide from the gas? To attach itself to the nearest available exposed flesh? HOW?! And while he was at it, how did it know how to use a gun?!

He could hear as a rapid fire of the assault rifle took down a couple more men before the others finally caught on. Bullets were already flying in the room, and he quickly got into position behind and below the counter, peaking out to fire. Evidently it had predicted this, also having taken refuge behind a counter as it fired back using the body of one of his own men.

"Great Hall!" he managed to shout out, firing as accurately as he could to no avail. "Come in Great Hall!"

_"__What's going on, Yak Tip Leader?!"_

"Specimen has a body! Repeat! Specimen has a body! Give me a bio count!"

After a couple moments. _"You have four men down. Five if you include the current host."_

"Loki's Endowed Balls!" he cursed. "Get me backup, or get me a quarantine! Specimen avoided the DR gas!"

As if in response to his words he turned to aim just in time to see his possessed man break cover, running directly into the line of fire. He dodged and weaved in unnaturally fluid and jerked motions, and speed that allowed him to close in on the nearest man. The creature shot him in the leg just as the body's neck twisted with an audible _crack!_, shocking everyone present as the specimen jumped from its now dead body onto the leg of the man that had just been shot, disappearing into the hole swiftly as it changed hosts with surprising ease.

_"__Odin help us,"_ Great Hall muttered through the coms, having witnessed it through their cameras.

It was a slaughter. Man after man firing in sorrow and rage at people that had once been their friends; some openly cursing the creature _back_ to Helheim as it used their comrades against them. The guilt of shooting men they had ate and fought with for years crippled some of them after they fired, the creature taking advantage of the lull to shoot them, penetrating the weak points of their armor before moving bodies once again, in flawless fashion. Minutes that felt like hours passed in a haze until all that remained of the Yak Tippers was its leader and the last available possessed man.

It had won. It knew that when his weapon clicked in protest as he tried to fire another round. With a practiced hand, he dropped the magazine, about to pull out another one when his hand was slammed into by a boot, a _crack_ cringing in his hand as he openly yelled in pain.

He could hear the growl that escaped his former comrade's throat, a strange look on his face that… no, it wasn't a strange look. It was the specimen partially emerged through his body. Enlarged eyes that reflected venomous green, cat-like slits where once human eyes had been. A garbled, hostile clicking came from its throat, the blonde hairs of its host trembling from the sound. With surprising strength, it grabbed him by the throat, lifting him up, turning him this way and that as though getting a good long look at him as though considering if it should eat him.

_'You will do nicely... for now_.' That voice sent the bushy hairs of his back into a violent quiver as it echoed soundlessly though him, as if telling him that no matter what he did now, he would never see the halls of his forefathers. Valhalla would never be open to him, because right now, Hel herself had claimed him for her own. _'__It's a pity you won't last long.'_

His helmet was wretched away, tossed to the side along with the light and camera. But it's eyes still glowed in the darkness. That green that said it would consume him. And slowly it did. It was almost painless as he felt something crawl from the hand that held him aloft, slowly creeping into his skin. He closed his eyes in resignation, the sensation of his thoughts muddling as he was taken over.

His final thought was that he hoped his comrades at least got to see the majesty of Odin's court. They had fought well, and if an eternity with Hel was the price for their salvation, he was more than willing to take it. When next they met, it would be on the day of Ragnarök, and they would be enemies; but at least the glory and honor would be theirs. They deserved that much.

And with that, he was consumed, his essence and soul replaced with the will of the creature that had taken him over.

* * *

"Great Hall" was composed of a series of analysts, observers, and strategists that sat in a semi-circular room that was stacked like an amphitheater. And all of them were drawn to silence as they watched the events take place through the tremendous screens that took up the flatter diameter of the room. Row after row of seating and electronic equipment followed the curved contours of the room, and none of it could help.

The moment they had lost the Yak Tippers and their grenadiers waiting outside the lab, they had prepared to send in a new squad, only to have them literally ripped apart in a more gruesome manner than any of the Yak Tippers had suffered. The body of Yak Tip Leader was formidable and had easily torn through the resistance.

They were accumulating data of course. This was the longest "Subject-Specimen MC-6211825", nicknamed "Hel-spawn", had held a host, and it had done so solely to escape. The sheer damage it had done! The intelligence and grace with which it attacked and moved was being cataloged and used for potential testing for later. The only problem was, they couldn't stop it.

It had destroyed many of their automated defenses, avoided lockdown enclosures, and was especially active at avoiding the DR gas they tried to hit it with. They watched as it moved through floor after floor, thankfully not attempting to enter any of the rooms they had sealed to protect the staff. It was moving for the elevators. The doors should have held. They were built to withstand deep ocean pressure and any detonation explosion if needed.

But they could only watch in fascinated horror as a blue light glowed from it's acquired human maw on the camera, a crackling sound popping the air before something flashed on the screen, an explosion rocking the camera through a veil of smoke. As soon as it cleared, it revealed a hole in the elevator doors, and a missing subject. Biometrics revealed that it was rapidly _climbing_ the shaft that led to the surface.

"Gods." The silence was broken by one of the analysts, and small chorus of agreements echoed that sentiment.

"What do we do?" The situation was getting- no, it was already out of hand. They hadn't been prepared for such a violent or strategic means of escape, and this specimen had proven far more capable than they had ever anticipated.

Panic was the leading emotion. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to be one of the most secure military research facilities in the world, and they had been defeated so simply from within.

Major General Stephen 'the Spiteful' Jorgenson sat in his command chair in a protected office nook at the back of the room, looking at a downward angle at what had transpired over the screens. There was a gleam in his dark-colored eyes as he beheld the raw destructive capability the creature could unleash. And there wasn't even a true synergy between the creature and the host. Still, he couldn't help the frown that shadowed his features as he rubbed the black hairs of his stubbled beard, scratching his thicker chops in thought.

"Can we track it?!" he asked loudly, causing many present to jump in slight terror.

"As long as it doesn't change hosts from Yak Tip Leader," one young woman stated, one of the strategists he assumed. "There is a transmitter built into the com."

"Then we'll observe as best as we can," he stated, leaving no room for argument, even as most of the present staff looked at him like he was crazy. "This is our chance to see how it behaves and reacts in an open environment with no restraint. Despite the failure to contain it, we can still gain intel from this. So, we spin what happened here into a worst-is-best-case scenario." Protect the staff, the project, and the assets it entailed. That was order number one.

There were reluctant nods all around before another spoke up. "About that… it's out of the complex, and it's swimming."

Jorgenson looked at the screen that popped up, sent and enlarged by one of the observers. A map of the island presented itself, along with a blinking red dot that was clearly the subject. It wasn't swimming too fast, but it was still making steady progress.

"Where's it headed?" he demanded, already disliking the looks he was getting.

"Based on trajectory? Berk, sir."

_'__Thor's bushy red taint,'_ he cursed to himself. _'It couldn't have gone toward those nosy Meatheads! Or the fuckin' Berserkers!'_ His fist was clenched, his mind debating and knowing exactly what to do, but his pride was getting in the way of what needed to be done. How long could he keep it under wraps before it was found out eventually? And the measurement of consequences in retaliation for his silence? Nothing pretty. Probably a command transfer to Freezing-to-Death, _if_ he was lucky; perhaps with a demotion.

With a sigh, he slumped back into his chair, a hand wiping over his face in resignation. "Get me Field Marshal Haddock on the phone," he stated to his secretary, who was listening to him carefully. "Secure channel, and for gods sake let _me_ break the news to him! We're already gonna hear him clear from where e'er the 'el he is."

She nodded and went to complete the task he had given.

_'__Gods. It had to be Berk,'_ he moaned to himself, his impromptu "Field Test" barely two minutes in, and it was already knee deep in a Jötunn's ass.

Oh! Stoick 'the Vast (-ly Terrifying)' Haddock was not going to be happy about this.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

**Heads-up:** I'm not sure how often I'll be posting these yet, so I'm not going to outright say "one chapter every week", "every two weeks", or "every month". I'm already thinking on, and writing, two or three other stories, so I'll write when the mood hits me.

The next chapter is more of a setup chapter. A little bit about the current world, and a bit more about Henry (Hiccup) Haddock.

Until next time with Fury - Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 1: Routine

**A/N: **Hey guys! This is a much more mellow chapter compared to the Prologue, so heads up, just in case you were expecting a ton of action. It's a process, so the action will come and go.

_**Trigger**_** Warnings: **There are no triggers in this chapter as far as I can tell.

I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I _am_ here to learn. That being said, I also respond to Reviews.

_**Review Responses:**_

\- Anonymous Noob the 2nd: Thank you for your input. While I have a general understanding of the main points of the story, I'm still in the process of thinking out the filling details, so it's a little early as far as what will be guaranteed in the story (outside the obvious of course)

\- Samo28: Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing? :)

\- Ceo160: How was that for Hiccstrid? (heheheheh! *wipes away tear*) Had that planned out since day one.

\- Shadowassassin reborn: It'll be a work-in-progress, but I hope you enjoy.

***End of Responses**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person.

I would also like to point out that I don't own any media that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story. I will note that my understanding of music is rather limited, partially due to fact that I don't stray from my particular preference much, and the fact that I'm American and uncultured (XD). Any topics or subjects that come up are not from a professional stand-point, but are written with as much knowledge I could garner through research and common sense.

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

Chapter 1: Routine (A Day in the Life of a Hiccup pt. 1)

_This is Berk._

_Supposedly over a thousand years ago, the island, and most others in the Archipelagic Cluster suffered some form of volcanic devastation or other; which is probable, given that the whole area is under one of the world's largest super volcanoes. Didn't know that? It makes sense given the number of dormant and active volcanoes in such a small area alone. Some islands were lost as they were bombarded from the resulting tidal waves that stormed the region; others grew when the magma and lava reached the sea, cooling rapidly into new landmass. Berk was one of those islands that grew; if history is to be believed, it's over three times the size it was, which is impressive all things considered._

_Thanks to said volcanic activity, the size isn't the only thing that's changed. The soil is perfect for crops despite the rough weather conditions, the fishing is decent, the woodlands are also teeming with game and lumber; all of that despite the city (more like a _very_ large town) that cropped up. Per Viking tradition, the city was named for the island it stands on, with all the lack of imagination that entailed._

_Berk, Berk, Archipelago; not the hardest overseas address to send mail to. Overall, it's not that difficult to locate. If you look at a world map, find the Meridian, and follow it up to that little space between Svalbard, Greenland, Iceland, and Norway; located in between a pair of miserable seas that have equally miserable names, called the Norwegian Sea and Greenland Sea (as imaginative as always). If that doesn't make it easy for you to locate, it's a few days north of Hopeless (via motorboat), and a few degrees south of Freezing-to-Death. If your snot turn into an icicle within five minutes of being there, you've travelled a little too far, and it's best you start heading south again._

_The island consists of a few seasons most of the world is not familiar with. These include your standard Spring, Not-Quite-Summer, Still-Not-Summer, Finally-Summer, Autumn (Winter-Is-Coming), Winter, Devastating Winter, and Gods-It's-Still-Winter; then it repeats in an annual cycle that only the most stubborn weather through (pun intended). If it's lucky, it snows six months out of the year, hails two, and potentially sleets during the other four (global warming they say)._

_As far as potential tourist attractions? Virtually none. The locals are cold, hard-headed, and proud, much like their great-great-great ancestors before them. In the morning, you get a rigid whiff of the docks, and all the glory that smell entails; it's either that, or the yak farms depending on how the wind blows. In the afternoons, if the cold hasn't kept you inside huddled under the thickest blankets you can find while wearing your warmest clothes _and_ pajama's in front of a roaring fire, one can always try the local delicacies that are as tasteless as the people who make them. In the evenings, there's always the local bars where there are fist-fights and eighteen year old's that have been drinking since they were twelve. The only redeemable features are the sunsets and majestic landscapes._

_Unfortunately, when it comes to anything different than their stereotypical Modern-Neo-Viking way of life… well–_

* * *

Henry Haddock, the third of his name (in no specific familial order), may all trip over themselves laughing at him (_Ha-Ha!_), and with no regard to his pan pipe loving ancestors, awoke to the delightful tones of his alarm blaring the chorus of _Panic! At the Disco's "High Hopes"_. He groaned pathetically as he tried burrowing further into his quilts. If the gods would grant him five more minutes, he'd sacrifice the nearest living animals he could find to them, which was probably one of Misses Alderfelter's cats next door, but it would be worth it in his opinion. He was sure he could find an ancient Viking ritual and prayer to go along with it too. Unable to fully return to unconsciousness, he turned over, lifting his phone to check the time, having to bring it to the brink of his nose thanks to near-sightedness–

_'5:02?'_ He groaned, smacking his face directly into the pillow, hoping the lack of oxygen might do the trick as well. Insomnia was a bitch! He'd gone to bed at 12:24 SVT (Standard Viking Time) in the morning after finishing a diagram sketch he'd been working on, woken up at 2:53, gone back to sleep at 3:39 and now this?!

"Augh! The gods hate me," he mumbled nasally as he rolled over, both feet touching the ground as he turned off the second-wave of alarms. He sighed, half-tempted to just lay back down and try hibernating again. But the thought of who would barge in to get his ass up sent a jolt of wakefulness into his system. Nothing a cup of coffee and a decent breakfast wouldn't fix. Maybe he could sacrifice one of the neighbor's cats for tonight/tomorrow morning if he had the time. Culturally speaking, it wasn't _illegal_ to sacrifice animals in the name of religion.

He swiftly grabbed his half-rimmed glasses and dressed, keeping his attire "Berk-simple", which equated to "insert random forecast with a chance of frostbite". You know, the usual. He favored a forest green jumper with hood and thicker cargo jeans, both of which were equipped with multiple small pockets to stuff hand-warmer packets into; a custom order he appreciated immensely on Berks colder days. He didn't bother messing with his mop of auburn bedhead since it took him all night to get it _just_ perfect; he'd have to thank his pillow later for its fabulous work.

Eighteen years old, and just under six-foot with dark green eyes that seemed to brighten the closer it spread to his pupils; he lacked the standard physique a military-favored island like Berk preferred. He wasn't too lanky, but he it was still underwhelming in view of some of the island's beefier stock. The greatest weapon in his arsenal wasn't his "guns", but the razor-sharp mind he had honed… well, maybe not razor-sharp, but it wasn't dull. Not that it mattered.

He took in his room rather briskly. Just enough of it to remind him that this wasn't his home; that he really didn't have a home. His possessions were surprisingly few, consisting mostly of books seated on a three-layered oak shelf, a computer desk littered with an opened laptop covered in multiple diagrams and sketches in an unorganized scape of paper, and a dresser filled with only the necessary number of clothes to last exactly a week-and-a-half, and half of that was sitting in a laundry hamper next to the door. The top of said dresser was also littered in a chaotic organization of parts, mechanical and otherwise, that seemed like they pieced together, and yet like they didn't.

It didn't take him long to pack his schoolwork into his pack before he descended the stairs, careful not to step on the sixth one up, as it tended to squeak in protest to any weight. He was immediately deposited into the larger living room, which was well furnished. The floor was made up of smoothed wood planks. The room consisted of a loveseat and three-person couch that shaped around the television in the corner, a rug and coffee table tastefully separating furniture from entertainment. A gas-wood hybrid fireplace was a couple paces from the loveseat, it's stone mantle housing preciously framed photos that Henry didn't want to look at for fear he'd subconsciously dredge up bad memories. To the left was the door, next to which was a coat-stand and another rug designed to accommodate shoes; next to those, taking up the space of the wall next to the door, was a large curtained off window. To his right was the kitchen, a gentle stone arch gaining him entry to a clean tiled floor.

The island in the middle held a built-in stove, countertop and bottom-cupboards on either side. Opposite of its face was the sink, with a curtain-framed window that overlooked the backyard woodland, the paning bordered by rows of both bottom and top cupboards. Standard appliances were present, microwave and fridge alike, with a large garbage can next to the backdoor. Just a little further in, a small dining room sat with an equally small wooden table.

He moved as quietly as he could behind the stove, leaning down to get into the lower cupboard to pull out a medium-sized pot and pan, setting them on the stove before turning the heat on a lower setting. Just a quickly he pulled out his phone as he skirted the island, opening the fridge and pulling out an array of items he had prepared the night before, setting them next to the stove. He thumbed through his playlist as he closed the door, searching for something morning appropriate.

"Oh? Hello," he commented, giving half a toothy smile as he pressed play letting the intro pass before he pressed onward letting the tone and lyrics set the pace.

_'~Shipwreck in a sea of faces, there's a dreamy world up there;_

_Dear friends in higher places, carry me away from here~'_

He grabbed the pot, pivoting on his heel as he turned to the sink, flicking on the water with an exaggerated gesture as he moved with the song. At half-full, he shut it off, turning back around carefully to prevent spilling.

_'~Travel light, let the sun eclipse you, 'cause your flight is about to leave;_

_And there's more to this brave adventure, than you'd ever believe~'_

Even as he set the pot down, he was opening a contain to toss a premix of sliced spinach, diced mushrooms, minced white onion, and topped with a modest slice of yak butter landing with a _sshhhhh!_ against the warmer pan. Already the smell was enticing, but he grabbed a smaller container of chopped tomatoes, popping the lid and turning to carefully strain the excess juices in the sink.

_'~Birds-eye view, awake the stars 'cause they're all around you,_

_Wide eyes will always brighten the blue~'_

He lowered the heat a little on the pan before he set the tomato container down, moving to a large glass container on the counter. He turned around, already unscrewing the container lid as he dumped the tomatoes in pan with the rest of the vegetables. The water wasn't boiling in the pot yet, but he had time.

_'~Chase your dreams, and remember me, sweet bravery_

_'Cause after all those wings will take you, up, so, high~'_

He spun a rotating bracket of spices, finding the coarse black pepper, salt, and garlic powder; measuring them out by eye as he seasoned the frying veggies until he was satisfied with the result.

_'~So bid the forest floor goodbye as your race the wind_

_And take to the sky (you take to the sky)~'_

Henry smiled as the music seemed to fade to the background; present, but his focus broadening as he continued to work quietly. He always made sure to have the _Owl City_ song on hand… just in case. It almost never failed to pick him up in the morning.

He let the spices and vegetables simmer together as he pulled out a measuring cup from one of the drawers, gently tapping in time with the song as he watched the water in the pot slowly come to a gentle boil. Carefully, he scooped out several measures of the dried oats, some of the finer pieces powdering his hand as he dumped each one into the bubbling water, lowering the heat to prevent it from frothing over. He quickly rinsed his hands before drawing out a spatula from another drawer.

He returned his attention to the veggies, stirring them carefully with his newly acquired utensil. The spinach was shriveling, the mushrooms darker, the onion browning slightly, and the tomato's skin wrinkling as it shrank. He quickly grabbed another container filled with the whisked entrails of nine eggs, pouring it into the pan with a mouth-watering _sssssssssss!_

A soup spoon made its way to his hands as he stirred the oatmeal, ladling out a couple whole spoonfuls of water before carefully mixing in a few pinches of salt and adding some left-over homemade yak-bone stock from dinner a couple nights ago. The broth was sweet and flavor-filled, but he made sure to keep it thin compared to the water, not wanting the flavor to dominate the otherwise bland hot cereal grains. He carefully sampled the simmering brew, eyes furrowing as he poured a little more in, repeating his sampling before a satisfied smile came over his face.

After stirring the veggies and eggs considerately, a small window of opportunity opened before either pot or pan would need his guiding hand. He turned toward one end of the sink, drawing the coffee pot from the counters edge, double checking that the device was set up before he pressed the start button. Satisfied as he heard the not-so-delicate suction of percolation, he reached into another cupboard, pulling out a blender, the _Bludgeon_ brand-quality guaranteed to impress by sight alone.

He turned back to the stove as soon as the appliance was plugged in, stirring the expanding oats, and scrambling the eggs further into golden nuggets, the fried vegetables looking something like gems amidst the culinary treasure. Well… the mushrooms he wasn't so sure about. A quick beckon of his hand and a soft inhale of the redirected steam told him that it was coming along nicely, but it just needed something a little… extra. He carefully sprinkled on a final seasoning, mixing it quickly so it would have at least a little time to saturate into the eggs.

Turning down the heat, Henry then moved with a rapid and practiced flourish then, practically dancing in-tune to the song-on-repeat as he grabbed bowls and silverware, setting the small wooden table. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave told him it was just past 5:30.

"Well, no time like the present," he commented to himself as he silenced and pocketed his phone, trying to keep an impassive face that made the muscles of his cheeks redden with discomfort. "_Or_ I could just wait for another five minutes?" A quick glance at the cooking food said that it would be ready any moment now, so he straightened up, and tip-toed back up the staircase, avoiding the haphazard disaster that would be the squeaky step.

The door straight down the hall from his room greeted him, looming before him like the entrance to some forbidden realm; which it was. As quickly as he had gathered his courage, it was now fleeing in every other direction but the one forward.

"Either face the beast now, or face it when it barges down the stairs demanding why I didn't wake it for breakfast," he contemplated aloud, realizing as he did every morning that he adored his simply uncomplicated life. Too bad there wasn't an option three where he continued amidst the living.

With that thought in mind, he walked forward, trying not to disturb the brushes of the carpet underfoot, as if a mere whisper would give his intentions away.

_'Deep breaths,'_ he encouraged himself, steeling himself as he raised a hand to the door.

_Knock, knock._

"Hello? Astrid? Breakfast is almost ready." He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, letting his arms swing a little as he waited for a response but got none. It was the same thing every morning.

_Knock. Knock!_ "Astrid? As much as I love the part where I come in, get the nearest object thrown at my head, I'd like a civil morning for once. _Please_?" Again, no response.

_'The hard-way it is then. Thank you, Freya, for the short life I've been given. It's been a blast… or it will be… with my innards strewn down the hall.'_

His optimism shining through, he cleared his throat. "Coming in," he called, before adding under his breath, "I hope to gods you're decent."

No sooner had he stepped through the door, something smacked him in the face. Half annoyed, but he wasn't complaining that it wasn't one of her throwing knives. Gods, how many times had he been hit in the forehead by a well-timed, or very lucky, smack by the blunt hilt? Hmm? He lost count. At least it was never the blade.

"Get the fuck out of my room!" A mess of wavy bedhead and half-lidded eyes glared at him in the darkened room, lit only by the light from the hall.

His face half-covered by whatever she had thrown at him, he pulled it off, wondering what had been in such proximity that it was the first thing she threw it at him.

"Well…," he said with a slight click to his tongue as he looked at the object in hand. "I think this is a first. Never had a girl throw her panties at me before. I was expecting to start slow. Maybe a bra for starters."

"Fuck you Haddock!" she growled, her face heated as one hand searching for something else to throw while the other held her sheets to her chest, even though he could clearly see the strap of her tank top.

"Panty-throwing _and_ an offer of sex this early in the morning," he commented dryly, tossing the underwear on the floor without really caring. "The day hasn't even started, and you just can't resist all _this_ I see." The sarcasm and cheekiness layering his tones could have been cut with a butter knife, but before he could continue his verbal onslaught, something hard smacked him between the eyes, effectively flooring him as he fell back, half of him laying out in the hall. "_Ow_."

"I said get out!"

He turned as he sat up, glancing at the steel-toed boot that had graced his face with its presence. Somehow, she always managed to hit him in the head, but never did any permanent damage, like poking his eye out. With as much dignity as he could retrieve from being downed by a boot, he stood up, casting an annoyed look at his less-than-cooperative… whatever the Hel she was supposed to be to him.

"Downstairs. Breakfast. Ten minutes," he ordered stiffly. "Otherwise, you can make your own smoothie for lunch." He was satisfied when the shadows of her face slacked, hopefully conveying the horror his words entailed. It wasn't an idle threat either.

"Then get out so I can get dressed," she snapped, albeit, in a more reserved tone.

He rolled his eyes, turning to leave as he muttered, "I even made scrambled eggs for breakfast." _Just_ loud enough for her to hear as he shut the door behind him. He paused to listen as she hastily jumped out of bed, cursing as she lost balance and fell over with a _thud_. She really wasn't an early morning person.

_'Ah,'_ he sighed internally, a tight-lipped smile and half-closed eyes glowering as he walked back down the stairs. It took a lot of focus not to slouch in exasperation and relief, despite his forehead pulsing smartly. _'My morning routine.'_

He was back in the kitchen in a moment, not so surprised when he saw another figure pouring themselves a cup of coffee. "Good mornin' Misses Hofferson."

A _tsk_ sound escaped between her teeth, slightly annoyed but endeared. "I've told you before Henry, you may call me Ingrid." Ingrid Hofferson was just an inch or so shorter than Henry himself, with far and few strands of gray mixed into her thickly braided, shoulder-blade-length flaxen hair. Small wrinkles smiled around to her twinkling deep blue eyes, still alight with joy and wonder. Her form was far enough away from the standard of most Berkians, more sturdy than stocky, and yet age did little to wear her down her posture. "You're family."

He just smiled. It was a long-standing exchange between the two of them, as second nature as it was routine: him being respectful, and her being casual. He pulled out a couple wooden coasters, setting them on the table before grabbing the pot and pan, placing them on top in preparation. He turned off the stove, throwing away the trash, and cleaning the dirtied dishes in the sink before pulling out a cutting board as he finished setting up the rest of it to dry. He drew an apple from a decorative fruit bowl on the counter, quickly removing the core before chopping up the rest into a small serving bowl, sprinkling it with small dashes of cinnamon before that joined the table.

With his preparations complete, and hands cleaned again for the change in task, he turned to the fridge and freezer again, pulling out another set of prepared items, taking them over to the blender.

"You know," Ingrid commented, watching him intently, "you could always let Astrid make her own shakes."

An involuntary shiver ran up his spine before he reached for the first item, his neck grinding like clockwork gears as he turned to look at the woman. "I know Berk is a military-governed island, but whatever culinary concoction Astrid makes equates to biological warfare. It's safer for the island _and_ the Archipelago if I do the cooking. Besides, Astrid's liable to accidentally lose a finger or two trying to work this thing." He gestured to the blender. While she was better than him at most things; this was his expertise, and his instincts deemed that Astrid would never hold so much as a kitchen knife.

He also didn't want her throwing it at him when her nonexistent skills in the kitchen ultimately failed.

Ingrid seemed to think on this for a moment before she shrugged, bringing her coffee back to her lips with a soft smile. "Anyways, thank you for breakfast, Henry," she said, moving to sit down.

Henry nodded in acknowledgement as he began dropping his stuff into the blender, doubling the portions to accommodate who the drink was intended for. _'Apple cider. Unsweetened applesauce. Baby spinach. Greek yogurt that probably isn't Greek. Kale. Frozen bananas that have been frozen since they were shipped this far north. Vanilla extract. And finally, cinnamon.'_ Some portions were carefully measured out, others gauged by eye. He considered what else he could apply before he added a little ginger powder, some nutmeg, and a small scoop of crushed almonds. Couldn't really go wrong with those. With no other preparation left, he snapped on the lid, and pressed "_Purée_". The machine was loud, rapidly turning the solids into mush as they blended with the liquids. Every now and then, something would get stuck and he'd shake it slightly to unclog it.

As soon as the smoothie was done, he was already pouring it into cold travel mug, capping it and holding it out behind him as he took the blender to the sink. Right on time, it was relieved from his grasp, and he took another moment to clean out the blender before he walked to the table for breakfast.

He did a double take, his eyes narrowing slightly; this too, was routine. Astrid Hofferson was already seated, dressed smart, at least, smart for their second year of Pre-University. A vibrant red, loose v-neck tee covered her chest and abdomen, the rest of her torso covered by a dark leather jacket, revealing nothing in her posture, but still leaving an imposing image. Like all Berk-made pants, hers were a layer or two thicker to combat the treacherous weather. She was lithe and petite for a Berkian, holding physical traits reminiscent of her mother sitting next to her, and yet somehow… different. Her hair was pulled back into a single large ponytail (not surprising considering the time limit he had given her). The eyes were most telling, a lighter blue than her mother's; and _not_ that he'd noticed, but there were speckles of silver-blue in her irises.

"Well, well," he began in his usual dry tone, "seems like someone finally decided to get up." He glanced at his bare wrist pointedly. "And with two minutes to spare? Color me impressed."

She turned to glare at him, half propped on the back of her chair to do so. "Didn't have much of choice. I didn't even have time to put makeup on or do up my hair."

"Not that you need it," he muttered with half a smirk, earning him a Niflheim-cold stare, quickly amending with, "It's not like you'll have time to apply makeup when we're in mandatory service anyway. Might even get used to living without it when you go Active."

Though Ingrid was silently watching the two of them, she visibly deflated somewhat at this.

Astrid opened her mouth to protest, only to close it again in silent admittance. Berk's two-year mandatory enlistment was unavoidable, but that's what the Pre-U courses of High School was for: finding where they fit into the military might of Berk and the rest of the Archipelago's armed forces; finding what they had to offer their home island once that military service was concluded. To separate the chaff from the wheat so to speak. Those with promising careers in advanced fields were carefully groomed to fill those positions, while the not-so-promising… well, they were left to find their own devices. They needed bread-making or small-home repair Vikings after all.

"Well, it doesn't matter anyway," she stated, quickly scooping up a spoon-full of the oats, and tactlessly tossing some of the scrambled eggs on it. "I can finish up on our way to school. And even if I don't, we have training today anyway."

Henry groaned, his forehead smacking into the table as he let himself go limp. "Odin's missing eye. It had to be today."

"It can't be that bad Henry," Ingrid reassured, gently patting his hand.

_'She's kidding, right?'_ he wondered sarcastically. No. She was just trying to reassure him.

It was Astrid's turn to smirk. "Better eat up Haddock. Gotta get some meat on those bones if you don't want to fall behind."

"What? Fall behind? With all _this_ raw Viking." He didn't even bother gesturing to himself, they both knew what he meant. "I'm sure I'll be as overjoyed as always when my already sore muscles collapse, or when I'm the first person pelted with paintballs._ Repeatedly_." He risked a glance up, to be met by something just short of sympathy from his… classmate? There really was no defining what the hell they were. "Can't I just do field maintenance? I'm good at that."

"Really good," she affirmed cheekily. "There are a number of less accident-prone people I'd rather have my back anyway."

"Harsh," he answered with a condescending snort, his chin resting on the table in resignation. "I'm sure I can always act as bait… again." He perked up slightly as some of their conversation began to replay in his head. "Speaking of not falling behind…."

"Whaaat?" Ingrid asked in low warning, turning to Astrid. "Are you failing your classes?"

"No! Gods mom," she moaned, putting her head in her hands before turning sharply to the cause of her harassment, "Thor damnit, Haddock!"

Henry ignored them both, pulling a large stack of papers from his backpack. "…someone needs to study they're Anatomy like a _normal_ human being rather than spend so much time studying Berk's military tact." He set it down in front of her, smiling wickedly for a moment before it became serious. "It took some doing, but this study guide should help you clear through the end of the year. Let me know if there's anything you don't understand or if they changed the course work; I'll try to amend it, but I think it should do."

She paused in her ire, briefly glancing at the stack, noting how the sides of each page were decorated with a very appropriate "Henry flair" to it. It even came with a title: _"An Astrid-Friendly Guide to Anatomy (Human or Otherwise)"_. She was pretty sure there were even hand drawn diagrams too, complete with the cutaways of the muscles and bones. Chances were, he had also anticipated which sections would be most relevant to her field of study. He always did. It probably also helped that he had already passed this course two years ago.

She risked a glance at him, finding that there was a hint of support behind his eyes before his attention returned forward to the food like he hadn't done anything important.

"It should be easier to understand than the course text, and there are a couple of _special_ pages," he added, finally sitting up to begin serving himself. She perked at his words, eyeing him curiously behind a scowl. He was already consuming a small spoon of oats, egg, spinach, and apple; nodding slightly to himself as he let the flavors mix. It wasn't like he hadn't made study guides before, and it wasn't like he hadn't made them for _her_ before, but it was always nice to get a different reaction out of her than outright contempt or disgust. The special pages helped with that. "So no worries Misses Hofferson. Her grades won't fall."

Ingrid just smiled as she sipped at her coffee, despite the fact he was still being formal. "Thank you Henry. It's nice to know that someone else cares about my daughter's academics."

"Thanks," Astrid mumbled with an eye roll, taking a bite of her own food. Her hand came to her mouth, her brow pinched slightly. "You put broth in the oats." He nodded, taking another bite, seeming uncaring of her reaction. "And the eggs. What did you add to it?"

Her voice was filled with accusation and demand, but Henry knew better. Of course, he knew better.

"Yep," he replied smugly. "Added a little cayenne for a little kick. What do ya think?" He knew exactly what she thought. The way the corners of her mouth strained not to curl upward, or how the edge of her brow would twitch for a softer expression; most importantly, the way her eyes would shine in question: She liked i–

"It's okay," she answered indifferently with a shrug. "I suppose."

_'Well, that ship sank quickly,'_ he thought, keeping his face straight as he took another bite.

He quickly looked at the time. _'6:18'_. "We need to get going here soon," he said softly, pushing the chair back to rise. "I'll get the truck started."

"Alright," Ingrid replied. "Make sure you finish eating though. And make sure you bundle up. It's supposed to get colder today."

He chuckled despite himself as he moved to the living room. "It's Berk. If it isn't freezing one moment, its cold the next."

As he moved toward the door, grabbing his coat and keys, his carefully fortified mentality stumbled as he caught himself staring at the fire's mantle. The framed photos glanced back, revealing happier times that he couldn't remember. Family photos of the Hofferson Clan, but also photos of their friends. Including what remained of the Haddocks; and the resulting fallout it entailed.

He blinked his eyes stiffly, twitching his nose as he sniffed. They were thoughts better left for safer quarters.

_… … …_

The ol' clunk of a pickup he drove _purr_ed down the road, protesting with the occasional _sputter_ and _vrrr_ as he kept a consistent foot on the gas, braking and shifting the gears of the manual only when approaching an intersection, especially since Berk hadn't grasped the concept of stop signs. The 1973 Berkian-made Lumber Cart – built to go up in a blaze of glory and not built to last – was one of his prouder purchases, despite its age. He'd found the vehicle with two tires set for the scrap yard at Sven and Svenson's Car Lot. Considering the wear-and-tear from its previous owners and the price, it was a steal to someone who could make all the necessary repairs; and Henry was just that person. It was paid for completely out of his own pocket, the repairs had taken the then fourteen-year-old only a week, and he'd even found the time to upgrade some of its older and impossible to find parts. While it wasn't 100% the original truck and parts, it was _his_ vehicular mutation: complete with its flaking and scratched grey paint. All things considered, it probably ran smoother than most of the newer models of cars and trucks on Berk – despite a general higher gas-to-mileage ratio – thanks to his modifications. It was as efficient as he could make it, and that was what counted.

Astrid sat in the passenger seat, fist on her cheek as she stared out the window. Her breath created a small fog across the glass that faded quickly as the trucks heating blew across it. She was silent, her cold smoothie in the cupholder and her backpack laying in the middle "seat". Henry's own travel mug of coffee sat next to her smoothie, somehow reflecting just how different the personalities of their consumers were.

Henry himself was barely registering her presence, only keeping enough conscience to remind himself that there was another person in the vehicle with him as he kept his eyes on the road. He couldn't help but think he was born in the wrong country. Maybe the wrong continent.

Berk. Like every other island in the Archipelago, it was a military-state, headed by its highest-ranking officer, or "Chief" in simpler terms. While the Archipelago's individual islands were governed by their reigning heads, each head acted more like a _Jarl_ of their home territories, convening together and electing a temporary _Konungr_ for the good of the Archipelago as a whole. It didn't stop them from fighting with each other, both verbally and physically, but it kept inter-island relations mostly civil… sorta.

One thing all the Islands shared was a world-renowned military might. None of them had nukes, or missiles, or… anything really; except naturally born jarheads who were dropped at least three times as infants. Men and women who were crazy enough to go into some of the most dangerous hostile territories in the world on foot or by sea, dumb enough to do it semi-cheaply, and tough enough to come out of it alive. Considering most of the Archipelago's economy was basically won on their tough-as-nails military prowess, it was a gods-send that they at least had the tact to align with the United Nations; essentially becoming a world "mercenary" force when required. Still the sheer weight they carried in military matters and funding was extraordinary.

_'And we're being trained to continue that,'_ he thought glumly. It was a fact he'd been reminded of for as long as he could remember. Even if only for a two-year mandatory period, he was going to be a part of Berk's – and by extension, the Archipelago's – fighting force. _'At least I'll go where my skillset is.'_

_That_ had been a source of ire, a cause of friction, between him and most Berkians: he wasn't a fighter. He had no qualms about fixing machines, patching people up, analyzing data, or even advancing their weapon programs; because in honesty, he had opportune fields in all those areas. But he wasn't ideal if he didn't raise a weapon like a "proper Viking"; not that he _couldn't_ hold an assault rifle, but the standard-issued weapon didn't suit him, despite how much it was pushed on him. Then there was his mentality. How was he supposed to "have a sense of pride", as others would say, when they were only fighting other people's wars? It was sickening.

Nevermind that he was awkward and clumsy as a kid. And abnormally small. And had almost shot a few people when he was live-weapon training. He'd grown out of that stage into a surprisingly tall, toned, and coordinated young man, but it didn't change who he was or how his people perceived him. He'd given up on pleasing people – on pleasing _anyone_ – a long time ago. Why try? He knew the end result.

_'And doing something repeatedly, expecting a _different_ result from consistency garnered, _is_ the definition of "insanity",'_ he mused, accepting his role as the most un-Viking "Viking" in the history of Viking. There hadn't been a soul he wanted to prove himself to since he was fourteen and scrawny. Sometimes he wondered were that enthusiastic and imaginative boy went when he glanced in the mirror. Then he reminded himself that that boy had finally given up. He didn't try to leave his mark. He made lives easier by not trying. While gifted in his own right as he was now, that once dazzling brilliance and open-eyed wonder had faded to ash and embers. Quenched rather than stoked. Neglected rather than cultivated.

That Henry had died. Because no one needed, or wanted, _him_. The irony was, the ability to not care about what people thought about him had stemmed from caring about what everyone thought about him. And those same people had _helped_ make him that way.

Snorting to himself, he was half-tempted to turn on the radio, but refrained. He needed something to cut through the monotony of silence, but he didn't want to annoy his passenger with his compulsory need to seek peace in the throes of a melody. He could drift to _Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata"_, and all would be calm with the world. Maybe the internet had an epic version somewhere. But silence was good? He could live with the silence. Silence on the way to school was routine.

Coming down off the mountain of Berk Heights, where some of the more "secluded" (as opposed to important) Berkian families lived, it was a short drive to the main parts of town. Most businesses weren't open just yet, people still having the self-preserving instinct to wait until there was actually sun to warm the Earth. Students unfortunately didn't have that luxury, especially if they were Pre-U. _'Getting prepped for on the job training in University life and a potentially violent death during or afterwards,'_ Henry subconsciously thought, his eyes narrowed in grim reality. _'If none of us freeze to death beforehand.'_

It wasn't long before he was turning into the campus of Berk High School, trying to find a parking space amidst a bunch of double-parked vehicles belonging to a bunch of nitwits. While they had graduated the Archipelago equivalent of "high school", those with sights set on Pre-U still made use of the facilities on the campus itself; their qualifications were evaluated, their strengths and weakness assessed, and their skills sets were expanded upon as much as possible in a classroom setting. Once they officially began training, then they'd be transferred or shipped off in an official capacity to the Archipelago University.

Finally finding a spot to settle his vehicle, he shifted into park, leaving the engine running as he made sure all his stuff was gathered. Now was the time to break the silence.

"Do you need a ride home today?" he asked, barely glancing at her.

"I'll get a ride," Astrid stated coldly, already gathering her stuff.

He sighed, knowing he shouldn't press it. _But_ he was too stubborn _not_ to. "That's not what I asked."

Henry jumped in his seat as she swung around, eyes tearing him apart with surgical precision. He had no doubt that if she had an axe, she would have used it right then and there. "I. Will. Ask. Some– one. _Else_. For. A. Ride. _Home_," she enunciated, each word cutting _very_ carefully, daring him to talk.

_'Don't speak,'_ he directed to himself, _'just nod.'_

"Just thought I'd ask."

_'You fool! You'll get us killed!'_

"Well nobody asked _you_, Haddock!" she snapped, opening and slamming her door in the blink of an eye. And just like that, she was gone.

"Does this look like a heavy-duty assault vehicle?" he hissed under his breath. "The hinges are worn as is. Gods! People and slamming doors."

He turned as the door opened back up, Astrid's cheeks burning red and head down as she grabbed her smoothie from the cupholder, quickly closing the door behind her again. This time, it shut with an almost serene _click_.

He couldn't help but hold back a chortle with a small smirk crawling to his face, gathering his own stuff as he followed suit.

_That_. That _wasn't_ routine. And Henry found that he enjoyed it.

_... ... ..._

Walking the halls of Berk High was underwhelming. With a student body of under two hundred, the two-story building usually had more empty space than not, between the high school students and the Pre-U ones. But if Berk could afford it, then there was no use complaining. Despite its relative size, it had a single large building hidden behind it, the "Gym", alongside an enormous sports field that was edged by the forests and woodland that covered most of Berk.

Henry was careful walking down the bustling halls, his hoodie up and glasses adjusted as he kept to the sides to avoid shoulders that made a habit of pivoting into his own rather rudely. It was like people went out of their way to run into him. Every now and then, someone might shoulder him into the wall or a locker, but for the most part, it was just firm nudges. It was a good thing he kept his coffee closed off in a thermos lest he spill the last line of defense for his sanity against the hordes of exhaustion and sleep-deprivation.

As soon as he found the stairs, he was moving up to the second floor where other Pre-U students converged. Unlike other Pre-U students however, Henry made straight for the Computer Lab instead of a classroom, dealing with more shoulders as he made the final stretch of his otherwise uneventful journey.

The line of blank monitors and screens hailed the sanctity of his haven, otherwise empty as he sat down, setting his backpack next to him. A deft finger turned on his chosen tower, giving him a moment of peace as he waited for it to boot-up. It took a few seconds before it allowed him to type in his username and password to his individualized profile setup. Within moments, he was signed into the Archipelago University's website, committing himself to the silence of his online schooling. The solitude would be temporary until the few other more advanced students joined over the course of the day. No one else was as far ahead academically after all; but no one else focused on their credentials as much as he did either. They had the physical prowess and societal acceptance to offset this; he did not.

He pulled out a notebook, only half paying attention to the recorded lecture on the fields of genetics and medicine. He didn't really have to pay attention as his subconscious autonomously accumulated and categorized new knowledge, while cross-referencing with previous information; specifically, in his current study of oncology. With his brain lulled to work, he began with the designs. Some might consider the artistry too abstract, or too complicated, but that's how Henry liked it.

He was absently splitting his brain between the classwork, and the design matrix of a weaponized plasma particle beam, using the plasma cutter of electronics industries as a basis. The problem: partial ionization versus full ionization on a massive and destructive scale.

_'…the lack of proper and effective heat shielding once the electrons are stripped from the molecular nuclei, the generated heat to maintain ionization would destroy any containment field after only a few uses. Add in the necessary electro-magnetic fields to contain and stabilize the moldable substance, and it lacks any form of cost-effectivity. Essentially, trying to create a self-sustaining, directed lightning-particle weapon that won't meltdown, _and _is efficient over a reusable course of time.'_ He continued to ramble on in his own head, half caught between the calculations to prevent the plasma from regressing to a gas-state, but also trying to keep it from blowing up from the sheer amount of heat. No matter how many scenarios he formulated or conducted mentally, it all seemed generate into one big cluster-fuck. _'Shit!'_

Meanwhile, from his computer… _"…the general deconstruction of genetic information in cells are reformed, creating a mutation within the strands. Some cases devolve the genetic code for cellular mitosis, sometimes creating cells that eventually run the course of their lives without reproducing, leaving the body relatively unaffected. In most cases, the cells genetic damage reproduces into neoplasms, or unregulated cellular growths more commonly known as tumors. In some cases, mitosis is unaffected. In others, the gene strands responsible for maintaining the slow rate of cellular division are reformed to accelerate, creating high division rates and aggressive growth…"_

His mind was constantly in two places at once, never once slowing down once the information began to flow. It was as if the traffic of his brain was fluidly flowing with no stop lights, able to weave itself so intricately and tightly, there were no accidents, just a constant flow of cars on a mental four-way; all the synapses of his brain firing in perfect synch. Absorbing, calculating, categorizing, distributing; the data of two separate subjects was amassing almost as fast as he could memorize and sift through it. _Almost_ being the operative word. He would never claim to be smart, but the ability to process the new information from separate sources and subjects allowed him to advance as far as he had with more ease than not. Technically, he was in an advanced stage of learning, even for the University. Then again, this was only by Archipelago standards; to say nothing short of the rest of the world.

After an hour of non-stop information, he paused his work, moving just enough to plug in some headphones to his phone before leaning back in his roller chair. Music helped his overheated brain cooldown. Processing those inputs wasn't a talent, it was a skill, one he had honed until it became second nature. He had taught himself to take in all that information, and now that skill needed the breathy relief of random pop culture. Maybe an OST (Original Sound Track) if he was feeling nostalgia.

He sighed as he closed his eyes, his shoulders moving on their own into a relaxed position, his posture almost straightening comfortably. The stimulus of symphonic sound was just what the doctor ordered as he allowed himself to rest. This was routine, and then he'd begin studying once more.

It wasn't until a couple more hours of this on-off study and music passed before he had company.

"Hey Henry."

"Fredrick," he nodded back with the smallest of smiles. Fredrick Ingerman was a husky young man with blonde hair just short an inch or two of Henry, but only because of a small hunch in his shoulders, but far outweighing him, with wonder-filled green eyes, and a couple layers of baby fat that still had yet to get the hint that he was a young adult. He looked like he could pull-off the Berk Viking look, as if he had inherited the bulk of Thor himself. Unlike what his "god-like" body entailed, he was surprisingly timid and shy, gifted with an intellect that Henry knew outshined his own in many ways. Anyone who hadn't met him yet would think he was a stereotypical Berkian, but once you knew him, he was a big ol' softie… and one of the best friends Henry had had since Middle School. It helped that they both had a pension for attempting to understand the world around them, but unlike Henry, he could pass the physical portions of Berk's required academics… albeit with a little calculated motivation, something Henry would provide until the day he was no longer needed as such.

"Anything new?" he asked, taking the seat next to Henry, his own backpack looking tiny compared to his larger frame.

"The usual," Henry stated, vaguely gesturing to his computer work. "You know, University classes. I half expected to be staring at a computer screen all day once I was drafted, but now–" He left a silent "you know?" hanging as he rested his chin on his hand, leaning on the lab table.

Fredrick nodded in understanding. "Well, it could be worse," he offered, letting his brighter personality peer through for a moment, before his face contorted with a sense of private humor. "You could be the worst academic in the history of Berk."

"You mean like ninety percent of our "oh, so noble" Viking ancestors?" Henry responded with a snicker. "Does no one on Berk know that we live in the 21st Century?"

Fredrick chortled back, absently starting up his computer for his own University credit. "At least we get to enjoy all the meatheads acting like mindless sheep. We might even get to give the orders."

Henry rolled his eyes. "I'll be lucky to make lieutenant. You know? They couldn't afford to give all _this_ a decent military rank. You're the one that will be giving orders, _Brigadier General_ Ingerman."

"Stop teasing me," Fredrick whined, his cheeks flushing red from the praise. "I doubt I'll get that far, even in a thousand years. Besides, I'm looking more toward the Berk Navy."

"Fine then, _Commodore_ "Fish"," Henry countered with a toothy smile and a half-mocking salute.

The larger Viking pouted. "I hate that nickname."

"Sorry," he responded back, though it was a half-hearted apology. "But if you're going navy, then it's fitting." His mood suddenly soured. "But your bound for better things Fred. If I can't start getting results on my physicals, then I'll be lucky to make mess cook. Gods know I'll make it the best meal most of those guys have ever had. No more Berk Mystery Gravy."

"I have no doubt of that," Fredrick stated positively, having been on the receiving end of his culinary skill; and rather enthusiastically at that. "You'll make mechanic or technician for sure. You're skilled with that stuff. I couldn't even begin to understand all of that."

Henry just shrugged. "Different types of intelligence," he responded like there really was no different in their skills, a trait that Fred had admired for the longest time. In terms of skill, they were equals, even if only to make up for each other's weaknesses in other areas. "If I'm lucky, some other school with a transfer program will snatch up my qualifications."

"Like where?" Fredrick asked, his brow furrowing in worry.

"I don't know. Maybe Germany? I hear they have great schools there. My German's a little rusty at best, but they have some great colleges and universities. It would beat the Hel out of forced military service."

"What about America?"

"Everyone goes to America," Henry reasoned with an eye roll before raising his hand with a dramatic "Henry" flair. "Non-conformist over here. If everyone does it, then it stands to reason that the best course of action is to do something else."

"I suppose." But Fredrick seemed a little disheartened at this. Henry had talked about transferring overseas before. It was an uncommon enough topic, but if he did, Henry would be the first in the Archipelago to do so, and not in a history-making way. Chances are, he'd be shamed for it. By everyone. While Fredrick knew that Henry was aware of this, he respected his friend's choice. If anyone deserved that kind of fresh start, Fredrick would nominate Henry in a heartbeat. "Just don't forget to call if you do."

Henry smiled at that; because that kind of response made being on the island that much more livable. "Now why would I forget to call my bestest friend?"

""Bestest" _isn't_ a word," Fred corrected, also smiling back. "If that's what your Norse grammar sounds like, then you need to get back to your university classes." It was a subtle break. A light-hearted hint that they _really_ needed to get their schoolwork done. "We lunching here?"

"Unless you have other plans?" Henry asked, one eyebrow quirking suggestively.

Fredrick blushed, moaning softly in resignation as his face collapsed into his crossed arms, knocking his keyboard out of the way. "Of course not. You're not the only one with Pariah-Status. I'll be lucky to get a date before I start turning grey."

"Lucky," Henry commented sarcastically, turning back to his next recorded class covering the geo-climate changes incurred by Archipelago's volcanic eruptions. He had to write a paper about the pros and cons of those events in the bigger picture of Archipelagic history. Easy. "I already found a grey hair."

Fredrick just snorted, letting the silence fully encompass them as they set about getting their University credits. They were later joined by others. Astrid was one of the students that came in after lunch, though Henry knew better than to try and make conversation with her. As Fredrick had said, they were pariah's, not just in the Pre-U or High School scene, but in terms of the whole of Berk. She was doing well enough in school – even if he was handing her study guides – and her military potential was probably made her one of the brightest candidates in years. She was officer rank material, and he wouldn't jeopardize that, even by association.

Not that she cared for his presence either.

Then there was that one dark-haired girl Fred was peaking at over his monitor not-so-subtly – since the moment she walked into the Computer Lab – when he thought no one would notice; one of Astrid's few friends. An exchange student from Berserk, Heather Oswaldson. Black, wavy hair and green eyes that sparkled with intelligence and kindness. Henry supposed she was pretty, but then again, he wasn't really looking; and he had enough respect for her to keep his thoughts under control. Besides. He was rooting for Fredrick, sending silent prayers to the gods on behalf of his friend. At best, Henry and her had a mutual sympathy; her for him, and he for her. It also helped that her older brother didn't hate his guts exactly, not that Henry wasn't a little bitter about–

_'Nope,'_ he chastised himself, closing his eyes to clear his mind of those thoughts. _'There's no use dwelling on it. The past is in the past, and neither of us had a say in the matter.'_ And Henry was determined to make it so, _especially_ since it was circumstances beyond any of their control. Henry had made his peace with _that_ event... or he was trying to.

Besides, it could be worse.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

And there we have it. This is part one of a two-part introduction to Henry (Hiccup) Haddock and to a modern take on Berk. It is toned down a lot compared to the Prologue, but then again, some of the best stories are (initial action followed by a lull). It opens up for anticipation. It's still going to be a little bit before our heroes (_Ha!_ Heroes he says!) meet, but it'll be worth it in my opinion; so hang in there.

P.S. Brothing oats is delicious. You can't tell me otherwise!

Chapter 2 and 4 will still be part of the setup. More about the current Archipelago, and a bit more about Henry (Hiccup) Haddock. Chapters 3 will (hopefully) cover matters as far as what transpired as far as the military installation, and chapter 5 will (also hopefully) be where both points converge (*rubs hands together excitedly*)

Until next time with Fury - Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 2: War Games and Grease Monkeys

**A/N: **Hey guys! SteinMon here!

_**Trigger**_** Warnings: **Simulations of combat via paintball, as well as mentions of limb-loss and prior military service.

I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I _am_ here to learn. That being said, I also respond to Reviews.

_**Review Responses:**_

\- Bloody Rogue dragon deity king: "Huh"? What's "Huh" mean? There are a lot of connotations and meanings to the word "Huh". As much as I appreciate the Review, I need a little more to go off of than that :)

\- Anonymous Noob the 2nd: If you could, define what you mean by that; as far as Hiccup becoming similar to how he is in the movie. Otherwise, I'd advise just wait, read, and find out.

\- vangian13: Ouch! But I hear you. And thanks for your feedback! :D I enjoyed writing that scene immensely. There's something about enunciating common everyday moments that I find fascinating, and getting to share my perspective on that is always a privilege. Plus, getting to build a modern Berk is kind of exciting. I'll admit, it's going to take some time, considering it is a large town/small city; so I'll be introducing it piece-by-piece, just so you guys can get the feel for the new, and the familiar.

I more or less chose the title in retrospect with "Venom". Simple, catching, and the name of the main anti-hero. I went along those lines. As far as the summary... yeah... not my best work. But I'll take your suggestion to heart. The only problem is the letter-character limit, so keeping it concise, but gripping is a bit of a challenge. :P

***End of Responses**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person.

I would also like to point out that I don't own any media that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story. Any topics or subjects (military and occupational) that come up are _not_ from a professional stand-point, but are written with as much knowledge I could garner through research, common sense, and from friends and acquaintances with experience in those matters. I may have also watched some YouTube :P

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

Chapter 2: War Games and Grease Monkeys (A Day in the Life of a Hiccup pt. 2)

"Give me ten more, you filthy sack of yak dung!"

And it was worse. He was in Captain Hildr's training class from Helheim.

Henry hated the feeling of sweat grubbily licking over his skin, his body feeling like a sauna as his forearms practically swam in perspiration. His head pulsed heatedly, and his hair clung to his brow as though he had taken a shower… a very grimy, not at all cleansing, shower. Sweat dotted along his forehead, some of it dripping into his eyes, making them sting. His eyebrows and hairline felt crusty from where the water had dripped, dried, or evaporated; leaving behind a powdery mineral residue that added to the dirty feeling.

He had changed – more like forced to change – into a training uniform: a tighter Berk brown t-shirt that framed his thin torso as though it had been custom fitted, a pair of thick forest camouflage cargo pants, and tan combat boots that were much too tight. He felt like death in it. His arm pits were soaked, as was his back and his collar. His clothes felt heavy. His feet no longer felt; they had suffocated in the heat of his tightly tied boots minutes ago. His heart was pounding in every vein, but especially in his forehead. Oh! And his lungs felt like they were strangling him from within.

To think, it was only a balmy eleven degrees Celsius with a light breeze. It should have felt colder, but it didn't.

_'I – hate – this!'_ he gasped between his thoughts; scrunching his nose to keep his glasses secure, his brain otherwise muddled as his blood circulation tried to assist his less-than impressive muscle mass.

"Is that all you got?!" She had deemed it necessary to crouch down and scream her question in his ear before jumping back up.

_'Gods – shut – her – up!'_ he thought in defiance. _'I – will – sac – ri – fice – another – cat!'_

He felt something heavy land on his back, preventing him from completing his attempted pushup. "Push!"

_'Trying – you – bitch!'_ he shot mentally between inhaled hisses. But no matter how hard he struggled; her boot kept him firmly in place.

His arms finally gave out as he collapsed, his hands shaking from the exertion. Gods he was thirsty. And tired. But mostly thirsty. His body hadn't even healed from yesterday, or the day before. Or the day before that. It was an irritating, constant, state of "all pain, no gain" that cropped up whenever these sessions roamed around.

"Get your ass up, Private Hiccup! Did anyone say you could lie down and take a nap?!"

He tried to obey, but his bicep barely twitched before his arm cried out, the kneading of muscle broken and still shaking as he grit his teeth in pain. It was all he could do to will the stupid limb to obey. Nothing.

"_Pff!_ Pathetic. You're a disgrace to Berk! Your father must be embarrassed he has such a weak-ass son!"

Henry almost snorted, his eyes rolling in exasperated reflex. Did they think that insult still worked? He wasn't thirteen and dependent on the affirmation of others anymore. If he wasn't huffing and puffing pathetically as his lungs screamed for air, he might have managed a condescending chuckle.

_'Gods, I – hate physical – training.'_ He didn't mind a good work out, but he didn't put on muscle that easily, and anything he did have was toned and lean. In his mind, there was no point trying to make him solid muscle when that clearly wasn't what his body type was built for. But… Viking stubbornness knew no other way, so they would train him no other way.

"Disgrace to Berk, huh?" He couldn't help it. Verbal lashings brought out the cynical parts of his tongue, smashing down the barrier between his mouth and his brain. "You haven't complimented me like that since yesterday. It's like it wasn't the exact same words. Oh, wait! Never mind. Someone's suffering a lack of imagination."

"Is that insubordination I hear?!"

"Nope, just the truth presented in a sardonic manner that illustrates the creative complexities, or lack thereof, in a Neo-Viking mind. How you survive in the modern age is truly a study worthy of science. I could write a doctorate essay on it, and never come close to scratching the surface of the amassed stupidity that's collectively corrupted Berk society. Care to be my study case?"

The drill captain looked completely stunned, as though Henry had slapped her. It was clear she didn't understand half of what he said, her mouth moving to reformulate what he had said to herself, but to no avail. Confusion, however, was quick to transform to ignorant anger, if the "gentle nudge" from Captain Hildr's boot to his side was any indication. "If you have the energy to mouth off, you have energy to muscle up! Sit-ups! Now!"

_'Ah yes. When the mental approach proves too difficult, enter the physical retaliation,'_ he half-scoffed. Typical Berkian.

Henry rolled his eyes, knowing that physical stamina had little to do with muscle fatigue; but without a complaint, he rolled over, dislodging her boot gently. He winced as he brought his hands behind his head, letting his arms take a break while his abdomen proceeded to scream bloody curses at him for foolishly upsetting the healing muscle. And to think, he'd gone all day without flaring up any of his day-after-day sores. Did they care though? No. He just continued against the natural desire to shirk from pain, sitting up and laying back down in jerky movements that reflected the strain he was putting himself through.

He was going to need an ice block for his head when he returned to the Hofferson residence. Maybe two. Preferably, while he was submerged in an ice bath. But he still had to get through the rest of the day _and_ work before that happened. _'Baby steps,'_ he encouraged mentally. _'One heart-pounding and lung-heaving minute at a time. Just need to make it through two more days, and then the sweet weekend.'_

Easier said than done, especially when pain had a way of enunciating and prolonging the perception of time; grinding every second out into minutes, and minutes into hours. Captain Hildr knew how to prolong that, extending his agony like some sort of on-the-down-low black-site torturer using physical training as the catalyst for her torment…

In fact, that line of thinking was completely plausible with her former military history.

So it was no surprise that by the time he had finished her whole training regime, every conceivable muscle group hissed and cried; less the burn of strained muscles, and more a stabbing with every conceivable twitch and inconsequential flex, sending shocks through his body with every movement. Gods it hurt! But Henry kept his face as straight as possible all the same.

"Pathetic. You'd think you'd actually be toughened up by now."

_'Well, considering you don't give me time to rest and heal,' _he groaned, laying on the soft, chill grass. _'Why am I the only student in this class again? Oh wait! Misconstrued notions that I'm supposed to be a Viking.'_ Per the usual, he'd be taking this one-on-one again tomorrow, just as he had in days long past. Routine as usual.

"Once a hiccup, always a hiccup," she bit purposefully as she turned away. "It's a pity that all that all that brain is wasted in such a weak body. Not even worthy of your academic accomplishments."

"Thank you, for summing that up," he retorted, the mere act of breathing causing his pectorals to stretch, cutting every breath short to cease the spasms. "I'm sure I can continue to be a disappointment for years to come." He couldn't help the chuckle that half-escaped through his nose.

"Something funny, Private?"

Oh! Everything was funny! His life was a walking, talking joke. "Just anticipating the pain of my new bruises taking paintball fire," he replied nasally, keeping his back to the grass. The cool felt nice on his sore muscles. "I still have welts from yesterday."

"Pain is just weakness leaving the body," the Captain quoted sharply as though it were gospel, her philosophy lacking somewhere between stupidly simple and reality. Pain wasn't weakness leaving the body…

…It was a gods-damned alert system built into the human body, scream that something was wrong.

And Henry's "alert system" was begging him to not stick around for his next class. Unfortunately, Captain Hildr headed that class. That, and everyone was waiting for Berk's little "hiccup" to screw up, watching like hungry predators for the smallest of transgressions. It was already bad enough that he was still the same thirteen-year-old in their eyes; he was intelligent, with no desire to put that intelligence toward actively advancing Berk's military lifestyle. "Coward" some called him. It wasn't his build or his academics that made him; it was his lack of Berkian pride and disposition toward fighting.

By default, the amassing of his physical and personality characteristics, that, individually weren't bad, made all of _him_ the most appealing target. Somehow, people could turn a blind eye to others with similar characteristics when he was in the room, like he was a magnet for their ire. Like he was their favorite ego-boosting punching bag.

"If you say so," he muttered, wincing as he pushed himself up as she began to prepare for her next class. It wouldn't do to lay around, especially if he was caught like that by any of his Pre-U peers. "Vulnerable" was a terrible place to be, and it was a position he didn't dare give to anyone.

He half-limped over to the collection of lifelike paint-weapons that he had been forced to carry out as a part of his "training". It was easy to find what was marked for him; all his sanctioned weapons emblemed with his hand-painted encircled winged Ouroboros. His hand immediately pulled out the replica of an AK-104 type rifle, a Berserker Kil'emal carbine-model. Not his preferred weapon but it was standard in the Archipelago, and no one really knew what suited _him_ or his style; not even he knew what his preference was, if he even cared. The weapon was accurate enough, semi-auto, equipped with a green-dot tactical scope and 45-degree offset reflex sight that he'd modified it for his own left-handed use (not that it made a difference when all the guns were right-handed).

Even though it was only a paint-weapon, Henry retrieved his camouflage jacket from his gear, utilizing it as a tarp to confine and protect the pieces; even before he began field stripping it down, checking for any alterations that weren't his own. It wasn't uncommon for some jackass or other to mess with Henry's training gear, and as a result, it had made him skilled at disassembling and reassembling his stuff to prevent the sabotage; not to mention paranoid. With this familiarity, it also allowed him to appropriately analyze and breakdown the weapon in his head, ensuring that nothing was missing or out-of-place. His hands worked quickly and meticulously, pleased to find that no one had messed with it before reassembling it just as quickly.

He shouldered the stock, aiming down the scope before pivoting it to look through the reflex sight. All seemed fine, so he quickly loaded the magazine, priming it before he took a couple of pot shots at a distant tree. The bright yellow paint splatter was pleasing to his eye, especially since it had struck so unerringly.

"Taking inventory, H?"

"Tuff," Henry greeted, unfazed by the new addition. "Just making sure no one fucked with my shit."

"I know, right? My stuff gets messed with all the time." Theodore "Tuff" LaVerne Thorston was as tall as Fredrick, and yet, somehow spindlier than Henry. His shoulder length straw-colored hair was done up in cornrows, a small underbite to his angled chin, and a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes that could give full-grown Vikings pause. It didn't help that he smelled of sulfur, methane, fertilizer, with more than a few other things flammable and explosive; but also touched up with something earthy and herbal that hung around him like a cloak. His brain was usually lost in space; but Henry didn't know anyone else who could spout and retain so many random facts (from cooking tips, to judicial law, to the growing patterns of griselda's) that he'd seen and heard. And he was probably one of the most gifted chemists in Berk history; the guy had created more volatile substances before he was in pull-ups than anyone in Berk history. And that was just the diapers. That didn't even count the hazardous chemicals he mixed almost instinctively. Who else could make plastic explosives by the time they were seven?

"That's because you're the one who messes with it," a voice said behind them.

"Do not!" "Do too!"

"Do no- Ow! I am hurt! I am very much hurt!" "Do too ya muttonhead!"

Ruth "Ruff" Eugene Thorston was the twin sister to Tuff, though the jury was still out on whether they were identical or fraternal twins. Especially given where their near identical physical traits were countered by their opposing genders; if you looked at them too fast or weren't paying attention in general, then one could easily mix them up. Mysteries of the gods, and what not. Her features were smoother than her brothers, then there was the obvious female attribute difference, though the easiest way to tell them apart was their hair; Ruff's was pulled back in thick braids and random clips that entangled throughout her hair, a series of smaller braids falling from the sides. Of the two, Ruff was more… grounded? Not to say she wasn't as intelligent or off-world as her brother, but she had an easier time focusing her erratic thought processes… at least enough that she wasn't also on prescription medication. Like her brother, she had a knack for chemistry and destroying stuff; unlike her brother, she had a sneakier way of doing it; less explosions and fire, and more short-circuits, truth serums and knockout gas, and subterfuge; including piggybacking and hijacking machine systems… followed by the resulting malfunction then exploding and combusting.

…Now that Henry thought about it, perhaps all those chemicals and explosive byproducts explained their… unique mental acuity. Despite that, he'd been friends with them for several years. While the two of them weren't disregarded as a Vikings persay, their destructive tendencies certainly put them at odds with the "normal" populace. Worse yet, it was entirely believable that they were the descendants of Loki himself. Together, they were top notch saboteurs with pensions for mischief and the cunning to pull off even the most elaborate pranks and trickery, both in training scenarios and otherwise. They were a team, and an effective one at that… when you could guide their destruction to an appropriate target. Berk had suffered much at their impish hands – including the Boar Stampede of Thorsday Thursday.

Twelve people ended up in the hospital that day, and ultimately this marked the twins' status as outcasts. Them and their Loki-gifted abilities. Henry was just glad he hadn't been on the receiving end in years.

"Ruff," Henry acknowledged, keeping his eyes forward. "How are you now?"

"Good, 'n' you?" she asked, already riffling through the cases he'd brought out, searching for her own training equipment.

"Not so bad. Could be worse," Henry humored, finally lowering his weapon to turn toward them. They were pulling out all the gear of the Saboteur craft, somehow looking more like stereotypical Hollywood spies with all the gadgets and doohickeys they had strapped to their outfitted belts. He even swore he saw a gas-propelled spider-thread belted grapple-rappel hook. Not exactly standard-issue fare, but Berkians believed in learning on the job. Any equipment they would be handling in their military careers, they were permitted to use and practice with during Pre-U training. It was among the few situations the twins he'd seen the twins serious. They didn't needlessly play with their gear, knew how to utilize it to the fullest effect, and maintained it all religiously (praise be to Loki, and all that implies); just as they were doing now as they did preliminary scans over all the stuff they were clipping to their combat suspenders. Tools of the trade.

Because Henry didn't have a military focus of any kind, he wasn't permitted any extracurricular equipment. No one trusted him with any of it either, given how expensive most of it was, and his aforementioned early-teen clumsiness that no one seemed to forget. Besides, it was bonafide military tech. Just another continuation of the Archipelago military legacy.

"So, H, I gotta ask…," Tuff whispered loudly after he finished putting on his camos, looking this way and that as though afraid of being caught. His eye lingered on Captain Hildr some distance away, his suspicion clearly visible on his face. It took several seconds to satisfy his apparent paranoia before he continued. "…do you got…," he looked to both sides before hiding his mouth behind his hand. "…the mods?" If Henry didn't know better, he looked like he was trading insider secrets.

"Depends," he stated light-heartedly. "Can I steal an Aspirin?"

Tuff nodded in affirmation, pulling an unlabeled prescription bottle out of his pant pocket and shaking out a single pill before tossing it to Henry. "Triple strength custom order Aspirin in ginger-flavor. All-natural ingredients, just for you as requested." The male twin took a moment of clarity to look worried. "Muscles acting up again?"

Henry nodded, already throwing it back and swallowing it dry, the taste settling heavily at the back of his throat. It was a necessary precaution. Henry didn't want the temptation to continuously munch on the twin's homemade prescription, so he left it in their hands, only asking for one when it was necessary. Unfortunately, most every day was necessary, but one was generally enough to keep him from collapsing.

He moved to complete the trade as he gently leaned his paint rifle against its case, gently sliding on his own camos before approaching his resting pack, pulling out and presenting a strange flash drive to the wide-eyed twins. "There are still a few bugs I'm working out, but there's over twenty giga-bytes worth of content on this. I have backups just in case, but _don't_ lose this one."

"Is that–?" Tuff asked, staring at the portable memory drive with wide, wonderous eyes.

"Yep."

"You fixed the multi-player mode?" Ruff asked, her hands grinding together in anticipation as she beheld the data stick. "Whole new quests? New creatures? Companions? Perks? Spells? Advanced AI graphic and interactive reaction systems? What about the particle fix?"

"Is Serana marriable?" Tuff asked simply, a wicked grin on his face emerging before he grew serious again. "And did you fix Lydia disappearing? She walked off with half my loot."

"Yes. To all of that," Henry answered with a grin of his own. "The real-time lag issues are fixed, so Fred can join us too, and I was able to create a connected private server so we can all come and go as we please in relative real-time. The enemies scale based on the number of players, the Shout trade system between players is still a little wonky, but it won't need overhauled again. Oh! And careful with the Dire Wolves; they sometimes glitch through the trees."

"And is… the Wyrm Roost extension complete?" Ruff whispered in reverence, as if afraid the concept would disappear if spoken aloud.

"I have the baseline down, but it's not playable yet," Henry admitted in understanding, carefully suiting up his remaining camos as he strained his shoulders. The aspirin was already working. "I still have the CGI, the graphics, and coding issues to deal with. By the time it's done, we're looking at maybe a forty plus giga-byte mod all together. Maybe… another thirty plus hours of re-playable content. I was even able to incorporate new Aedric and Daedric quests. Complete with a choice-and-narrative-based interactive world."

"Weren't you having trouble with that? Something about _Bethesda's_ coding issues countering your repair coding?"

"Fucking _Bethesda_," Tuff commented under his breath.

"I was," Henry admitted. "Turns out, all I needed was five minutes of absolute silence in the shower, and the solution just came to me."

"Impressive as always, H," Theodore admired, reaching for the flash drive.

Henry pulled it back, leaning the memory storage toward Ruth with a warry look in his eyes. "Nope. Last time I gave you the updates, Tuff, you lost it. Fred went into mourning for four days after that."

"A completely prepared _New Vegas_ mod that will never see the light of day," Ruff sniffed in sorrowful remembrance, accepting the flash drive as she shook her head at her twin. "Though, on the bright side, you made Henry paranoid enough to make copies for all his future projects._ And_ not let you anywhere near the game mods."

"In my defense, the moon was full, the chickens were out, and I was left unsupervised." Tuff objected, raising a finger in clarification. "Besides, I bet ya it was the trolls that took it. I must have hidden the flashdrive in one of my left socks! Trolls love left socks!"

Haddock and Miss Thorston rolled their eyes at his antics. This was their routine. Having as little to do with their upcoming military lives as possible; instead being anything but duty-, and conscript-, bound. It was their last year to be so, for a long while anyway, and no fantasy world could change that.

"Awww! Look at that. If it isn't the _Hiccup_ and his band of freaks and nerds."

"Jerk alert," Henry whispered just loud enough for his friends to hear, his chin bowing low as he picked his weapon back up. Unfortunately, the twins weren't as low-key as he was, swinging around to face the object of his dispassion.

Another one. Sigmund – or Simon for short – "Snotface" Jorgenson. The splitting image of his father, just shorter, and significantly less hairy. Oh! And about seven times as vain, with less-than half the brain capacity of his old-man; with an ego and "confidence" that soared through the stratosphere. And if memory served him right, he was about three times meaner too. Same jet-black hair, chiseled jaw, and knees that reminded Henry never to skip 'Leg Day'. If Henry could remember a time when the "Snotman" hadn't been a massive triple-hemorrhoid, it had long since been lost to time (_'Before we were five,'_ he thought inconsequentially). It didn't help that they were something like second cousins thrice removed, or some other relation that was thankfully distant, but still far too close for comfort. For some reason he felt it was his personal mission to make Henry's life a living Helheim.

And then there were his cronies. "Boar" Jaal Bjorson, Dillan "Dogsbreath" Axel, Neal "Sheep-face" Hendrickson, and "Clueless" Timmy Jorgenson (who was also the Berkian equivalent of a "hiccup" like Henry, but didn't suffer the abuse thanks to his relations to the Jorgensons). The most Henry cared for them was the time it took to come up with their nicknames (a skill for which he prided himself). How someone as thick as his "cousin" managed to rally so many was astounding. Unfortunately, he was in a training squad with them.

"Come on nerds, say something nerdy," Simon commanded, crossing his arms with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

Henry and the twins looked between each other, exchanging a whole conversation without saying a thing. The longer they lingered in silence, a little more of Simon's composure slipped. "Hell-ooo! Anyone home?! Dipshits?!"

"How thick are they?" Neal snickered, half-covering his mouth with his hand.

"Don't say "thick"," Jaal pouted deeply, holding his larger gut protectively.

"Oh, grow up," Dillan huffed with an eye roll.

"Huh?" Timmy asked, not keeping up with the conversation. Hence the "Clueless".

Their words were met with silence on the "nerds" end.

"Hey Theo-dork, your sister any good in the sack? I hear your family tree goes straight up, so…," Dogsbreath commented, making lude gestures with his hands and face.

A drawn out "Ooooooo!" arose from the Berkian muscle-heads

Tuff was slower sometimes, but he wasn't dim. He knew an insult when he heard one; and he was especially attuned to the ones that insulted his family. It took all of Ruff's strength to hold her brother back as he kicked and flailed, his hands reaching noticeably toward Dillan's throat. "Lemme at 'im! I'll turn 'im into a stuffed yak! I'll sic the chickens on 'im! The wrath of Loki upon you, fiend! May–!"

Ruff swung him around and slapped the "wrath" out of him before standing him up straight. "Subtlety, my dear Watson," she stated with a suspiciously peppy English accent, patting him on the head. "Observe." At once she began looking over her Glock-type Henge-56 replica, moving it this way and that without an apparent care over what was said.

All at once she began to sniffle, her nose scrunching as her breath began to huff.

"Eh-eh-_Achooo!_" resounded with a muffled _'puh!'_ that became enunciated by the stifled croak of a near adult Berkian. Dogsbreath was on his knees in terror, reverence, and pain; clutching his coin sack. His face was red and contorted between multiple unreadable expressions. Green paint spilled between his fingers as they tried to protect his goodies from further harm. The others grimaced empathetically, moved to shelter their own coinage from taking damage, eyeing between Ruff, and her nonchalance with her weapon.

_'That's gonna leave a mark,'_ Henry thought, unable to muster a pinprick of pity for him, and therefore didn't empathize with his current state of pain. Though, he still admired Ruff's solid execution via forced groveling. _'Good.'_

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry Dillan," Ruff exclaimed in a concerned falsetto. "Are you alright?"

"Y-y-ou, b-b-b-itch," he trembled, his voice not quite at the right octave.

"Oh, okay," she said with a beaming nod before her features did a one-eighty. "Insult my brother like that again, and Bilbo Baggins will leave the Shire. Permanently!" Her weapon pointed at her intended target.

"Why not Frodo?" Clueless digressed cluelessly, nods slowly circulating what remained of his troop. Dillan groaned at the treachery. Evidently, they all had the memory of goldfish; good to know.

"If he doesn't get the message after Bilbo, then Frodo will join him," she threatened darkly. "Then the Shire won't have any more–"

"_Bagginses!_" Tuff exclaimed, startling the remaining lads with his impersonation, chuckling in character before he began to choke on his own air. "_Shi- Lo- Can- Bree-_"

"Is that all you muttonheads have been doing?"

Of course, that was the moment for Astrid to appear at the show. A display of Ruff holding the neuter-weapon, Dogsbreath crumpled to his knees and halfway to said neutering, all while Tuff was coughing and hacking.

She was dressed for the occasion in her own camouflage, already geared up. She looked over the twins, approving of their dress and preparation, barely glancing at Henry before her eye landed on Simon and his gang. Her eye twitched twice before she took a deep breath, her features relaxed. "Suit up, Jorgenson. You and your flying monkeys."

At the sound of her voice, Simon was immediately turned away to smooth back his already slicked hair, his tongue squeaking across his teeth and licking his lips to rid them of the cold chap. He whipped back around to shoot her his best crooked sultry smile, his eyes narrowed lazily. "Hey babe." His arms began to flex almost of their own accord, his chest puffing out and pecs popping in boast. "Has anyone ever told you that you look like a Valkyrie sent by Odin?"

"If that were the case, I'd have passed your death off to another Valkyrie." she replied passively, her jaw set firmly. "However, if you're not dead, I'll be more than happy to kill you and speed that process along if you call me "Babe" again."

"But, babe-" His confidence faltered as he met her steely-eyed glare, his eyes falling to her clenched fist before he acquired some sense of self-preservation. He had long since stepped out on thin ice, and he was starting to understand that.

"Oh, so the dogs can be taught," she muttered, before ordering, "Get your gear on. Now!" Her gaze swept over the rest of them, clearly uncaring of Dillan's cowed position. He was just starting to breath normally again too. "If that's too much for you pea-brains to handle, I can always have Haddock give you lot a lecture on proper dress code."

While Henry wasn't particularly fond of her throwing him in anyone's crosshairs – especially given the dirty looks he was getting – it was worth it to hear the chorus of whines as they mustered over to their crates, strapping on their own gear. If he'd had a camera, he'd have taken a picture of Simon's face to preserve for all time.

When they were out of range, Astrid turned to the twins. "Really Ruth?"

"Hey! He was askin' for it," she protested, kissing the barrel of her Glock affectionately.

"He was, indeed," Tuff affirmed theatrically. "And to think, Doggy kisses his mother with that mouth."

Henry kept the plethora of snide comments he had piling up to leave his mouth under lock-and-key. Never mind that he didn't want it getting back to Dogsbreath somehow, there was no use opening his mouth for anything other than "Yessir! Orders, Sir?!" with Astrid present. And _maybe_ an "insubordinate" comment here or there; he did have a reputation to uphold.

"Cadet Hofferson!" They all stood to attention, ready to meet the approaching form of Captain Hildr, Astrid giving an exasperated look toward Simon and his friends as they fumbled over themselves to get stand straight before the lot of them toppled over like dominos. "'S your team all here?"

"Present and accounted for," Astrid replied stiffly.

"Good. You all will be participating in a round of Eliminate and Capture!" she bellowed to the squad. "Captain Gundarson has so graciously volunteered his class for this exercise, so it will be eight-on-eight!"

"I don't care how many there are," Simon declared as he shot back to his feet. "I'll take them all on. With my face."

Eye rolls roamed through the smarter half of the group, Ruff whispering to his twin, "I'd pay to see that," earning a snicker from Tuff.

"Yeah, but we have the Hiccup. So, we have like seven," Neal countered.

"Hey!" Timmy exclaimed, a "hiccup" himself.

"Not you, idiot! The other hiccup."

"If we include you numbskulls, then it's more like three," Astrid hissed.

"Two if we include my brother," Ruff interjected.

"Yeah! Wait? Wha?"

Henry just sighed. So much for a team effort. He was glad this was just an exercise. Had this been the real thing, they'd be killed within a few minutes. Regardless of his opinions on Berk and its policies, he was serious about training. It wasn't a game, so he didn't treat it like one. In reality, people died, and it could easily be any one of them. A quick glance told him Astrid was of like mind; it was probably one of the only things they shared in common.

Yeah. She especially knew that this wasn't a game.

"You all have twenty minutes to setup," Hildr barked. "Now get to it! If you lose, you'll all stay after class for a five-mile run!"

Groans and _Hup_'s circulated in droves.

_… … …_

Henry strolled through Berk's woods, his feet instinctively rolling as they met the ground, muffling his steps with every tread. It wasn't perfectly stealthy thanks to the fallen pine needles that crunched under his heavier boot. His eyes darted back and forth, his weapon at ease as he scanned his surroundings.

"Remind me why I'm scouting again?" he murmured quietly; his headset built into the full-headed helmet he wore.

_"Because you volunteered at home. You're the bait, remember?"_ Astrid pointed out over their communications.

_"That's no fair! How come he gets to volunteer first?!"_ Snot shouted over the comms, the surprise causing Henry to misstep right onto a dry twig with a _Snap!_

His breath caught as quickly sidestepped behind a tree, swallowing nervously. He wasn't the only one scouting ahead. Ruff and Dogsbreath were also combing the woods. Astrid would be in a hole, bunkered down as she relayed information and kept everyone in communication as the unquestionable leader of their merry band; she'd be directing them while keeping track of them. Simon, Boar, and Neal would be guarding the Capture target; in this case, an easily defensible flag. True to Thorston form, Tuff was setting up traps, marking their positions on the shared digital map that was relayed through the helmet's Heads Up Display, so no one would accidently set one off. Timmy would be up in a tree, using a drone as a scouting and mapping tool for Astrid, since it was the only thing that kept him remotely out of trouble.

_"Snot, unless you see someone from the opposing team or are being shot at, you're ordered under radio silence,"_ Astrid commanded in annoyance. _"And even if you're being shot at, I don't want to hear a peep out of you!"_

_"Oh come o–!"_ Simon's voice was blipped out immediately.

"Thank Tyr," Henry whispered in gratitude, stepping out from behind his tree as he continued to move. It was an eerie quiet, like the forest usually was. It took every ounce of self-control not to hold his breath, keeping it steady as the Berk cold was warded off by his walking. Statistically speaking, it would have been safer to travel in pairs, but Henry found he didn't mind being solo. It meant he didn't have to deal with derogatory comments when he was trying to listen for foes, or need to watch his back for treachery (he'd been shot by his teammates plenty of times for that).

A small _snap_ caught his attention, and he crouched low, ears perking and green eyes peeling as he scanned this way and that. Whatever had made the noise had wisely made itself scarce, but that wouldn't help. Henry took a deep breath to steady his pounding heart, pushing up his glasses as he tried to sharpen his vision.

_"You've stopped. What's happening Haddock?"_ Astrid's voice shook him from his gazing.

"Stalking me on the over-map, huh? I'm touched," he whispered with a small smirk, peering out from over a prone tree he had crouched behind, supporting his weapon on the half-rotten bark. He was as much the hunted as he was the hunter. Maybe more so. He didn't bother trying to pick out anyone or anything among the forest background, knowing that his opponents were as camouflaged as he was. Instead, he breathed, letting his ears and nose do the work. Especially his nose. He'd smell them coming from a hundred feet away, even if they were downwind. He tuned into the birds and squirrels chattering, using them as an impromptu alarm; when the birds stopped chirping and the squirrels started hurling obscenities, then they were close.

Astrid was silent on her end, and Henry had to strain to keep his grin from growing larger as he imagined her face red with breathless fury. Oh-ho! He _was _going to pay for that later. She'd probably slug him in the arm… and aggravate his already sore muscles. _'Yeah, I didn't think this through. But sooo worth it.'_

_Crack!_ The birds were silent, and the squirrels were chattering angrily.

He was aiming down the offset sights in a blink, taking deep breaths as his heartrate began to pound painfully in his chest. The ambience in the forest had ceased, the weak afternoon sun shining beams of soft light through the branches that barely lit up the otherwise darkened shadows.

_'Puh-puh-puh.'_ Three red splatters smacked not two feet from Henry as he already dived behind his cover.

_'Calculated trajectory versus same pivot angle, impacts on the surface of the log, and angles of impact,'_ he thought calmly in rapid succession, the angles devoted to guestimate the distance and point-of-fire. It wasn't an exact math without calculator and a piece of paper for visual aid, but Henry broke own the basic trigonometric principles anyway to find his shooter.

The other half of his brain was already panicking. _'Oh Thor! Oh Thor! Fuck! Baldur's fuzzy mistletoe-skewered chest!'_

He swung back over the log, letting half a breath out as the calmer portion of his brain took blind aim, and his finger pulled the trigger. He watched as the smooth-bore barrel let fly his bullet, the single yellow ball splatting amidst the trees and across the helmet of the enemy.

It was a good hit. Unfortunately, he knew the tactic that was being utilized. One distracts, the others surround. The hunting tactic of wolves.

_'That's right,'_ he reminded himself, _'I'm the bait.'_

"Tuff," Henry stated clearly into his comms, ducking back down into his hiding place.

_"What's up, H?"_ he responded.

"In case I don't make it, I have a favor to ask." Another branch snap alerted him, and he turned, firing into the undergrowth. He knew he missed, but he heard the exclaim of his foes closing in.

_"Shoot."_

As if to reaffirm his words, a blue paint splatter smacked into Henry's arm. Aspirin or not, it was enough to ground him right then and there. He hit the dirt, coughing as his muscle cried from the impact. He heard them closing in. Three; four if you included the guy Henry had pelted in the head.

Yep. The plan worked. When in doubt, Henry Haddock made for excellent bait to draw their peers away. A magnet for trouble in all its forms. This wouldn't work outside the simulation of their own island. In real-life, this scenario wouldn't work, but Henry didn't mind milking it. As long as it got his friends ahead, he was okay with this position. Sure, he was giving Simon a freebee too, but the reward outweighed the detriment.

He saw them, approaching, savoring their "kill". Ah! Routine. The Vikings never learned.

"Stick a magnet to my hard-drive," Henry groaned in jest to the twin, a leer on his face. "Haddock, over and out." _'Gods I need some stronger stuff,'_ he thought, wishing he had another aspirin on hand. Then again, that's why he left the bottle with the twins specifically for moments like this.

Henry pulled out his saving grace as gently as possible, not wishing to draw their eyes as one of them gave him a solid kick to the ribs, causing a new round of painful coughing.

"Looky here! I caught us a squirrel." He could hear all their boots closely now. Victory was his.

_'Thank gods those twins come through,'_ he thought. _Click!_ Henry released the pin, the spring letting loose the spoon. He waited only a second before he rolled over, brandishing his last-ditch effort. For his team.

"Then this squirrel says, 'Suck my exploding acorn'." And he lightly tossed it right toward them, launching to his feet and over his log, nestling on the other side just in time.

_"H? Noooooo! H!"_ Tuff's voice crackled over communications.

_Splllllch!_ Wet lime-green paint flew everywhere, coating the space Henry once lay and all other things in the directly line of a fifteen-foot radius. Henry breathed heavily, flinching as the dye was strewn across the space directly in front on him, the blast barely missing his shoulder and nose.

"Motherfucker!" _his_ "prey" cursed, now undoubtedly coated in paint.

Henry gingerly pushed himself up, using his good shoulder before he sat up. He'd hit all three of them – technically four, but he'd already shot him – and he knew what came next.

"We-ell," he taunted, pretending to brush the paint off his shoulder. "We all know what happens next." And it did.

Those he had "taken down" brandished their paint weapons. Technically it was against the rules, but it had long since been established that they wouldn't follow them, especially when revenge against the "hiccup" that bested them was so much sweeter. So, like the Draugr of ancient times, the "dead" fought back. Henry kept his thoughts to himself though, because in real-life he would have just killed someone. It wasn't a game. Not to him, but if a few idiots insisted on bend the rules for their own amusement, there was nothing he could do about it accept pity them when a real grenade was thrown into their midst.

"Hey Ruff. Tuff. Your paint grenade worked," he stated, just as they opened fire.

From a distance, they might not have hurt so bad. But up close, and from multiple sources, the rapid pelts and stings felt like a dozen wet towels snapping over his already sore body. As glad as I was for the layers of camo, he was especially grateful for the full-faced mask and helmet that was standard in training, especially since that's where most of their hits were aimed.

The jarring didn't stop until they had long since run out of paintball ammo. And when that was depleted a few of them took pot shots, some boots meeting his stomach hard enough to send him gagging up his poor lunch in his mask, and others kicking him in the leg. Such was a rarer, though still anticipated, part of his routine.

The zip of gas-propelled spider-wire caught Henry's ear, and he smiled weakly as he fumbled his helmet off, too out of it to watch the proceedings, and too busy trying to wipe the puke from his mouth; gods, he was going to have to clean out his helmet now. But he knew what was happening.

It started with one. He was pulled back into the dense Berkian forests with a yelp, immediately alerting his comrades to the impending danger. The others swung around, forgetting all about Henry… and forgetting that their weapons were completely on empty. They didn't see where their buddy had gone, and they wouldn't find him. If Henry knew anything, it was that Ruff had probably smacked a handful of chloroform over his face as soon as Tuff had pulled him in range. Poor bastard would be out cold for a couple hours.

"Where'd he go?!" one of them called, as if the gods would answer his question.

_"Heheheheh!"_ a series of cruel laughs echoed through the trees, distorting the direction it came from. Henry had to hold in a chuckle to keep from laughing, and thereby hurting his muscles and stomach. Nope. Too late. He was hurting; but the pain didn't keep his gut from heaving heartily.

_'The twins and their theatrics,'_ he mused, coughing sorely.

His ear twitched when the _crackle_ of a shock dart stuck another in the neck, collapsing him in a heap. Another _zip_ of wire, and another was all tied up on the spot, screaming as the wet paint gave the wire purchase and lubrication to sling tighter, constricting him in place before he disbalanced and fell face first onto the dyed pine-needled ground. The last of them tried to shoot randomly, only for his weapon to _pff-pff-pff_ pathetically as he wasted his gas-propellant on an empty magazine.

"Show yourself!" he shrieked, spinning around in place as though he was surrounded… which, he kind of was.

A cannister dropped next to his feet, releasing a cloud of gas almost instantly, hindering his vision behind of a settled fog. In a flash, he was held in a choke hold by one set of arms, and another hand holding his mouth shut to keep him from screaming.

"_Shhhh!_" Ruff soothed coldly, her hand preventing him from calling out. "Go to sleep my little Falmer. Go to slee– _Ugh! Ew!_"

"HEL–!" A resounding smack hit, and he was knocked out cold.

"Why'd you get to hit 'im? I wanted to knock 'im out?" Theodore whined.

"He licked my hand!" Ruth counter-argued, holding her hand away from her as though it was diseased.

"Clearly a sign of pure desperation," Tuff nodded in understanding. "For this, dear sister, I relinquish my knock-out to you. You might want to disinfect that though."

"I'm sure we have some powdered bleach concentrate at home," she agreed.

"Don't use the Hammer-Strong! That's for mixing the chlorine gas!"

"A little help guys," Henry rasped weakly, still chuckling somewhat in a controlled manner. He loved his friends. He loved them _so_ much.

The twins beheld him, Tuff pulling off his own mask to get a better look. "Wow, H. You look like shit. What happened? Get into a fight with a blueberry patch? Wait, are there blueberries?! Can I have some?"

A solid smack upside the back of his head from his sister set him straight. "No, idiot. Those assholes clearly shot him after he kicked their asses. Like a boss!" She bent down, pulling one of Henry's arms over her shoulder with surprising ease for her size.

"Oh." As if in after-thought, he pulled out a small aluminum canister, shaking it up as he pointed it at the tied-up foes face. "For your crimes against humanity, eat Macey, Viking scum!"

"What are you–? _Gaahhh! Ahhhhhh!_" A stream of spray streamed over his face, giving relinquish to ungodly screams of agony.

Ruff just snorted as she readjusted her grip on Henry. "Wuss."

Tuff spun his favored weapon atop his finger before sheathing it in his belt with practiced flourish. He hobbled over to Henry's other side to assist his sister. With a series of chuckles, they began to haul him back toward the sports field they had originally started from.

"Heheh! Loki'd?" Tuff asked, his mischievous smile wide and vicious as he held out his empty fist in front of Henry.

"Loki'd," Ruff agreed, fist-bumping her bro. They walked for a moment more before she chuckled. "That was the hand he licked by the way."

"Ewwww!" her twin groaned, wiping his hand on his uniform as though that would get it all off. "Now I need to bleach my hand."

Henry groaned a little as he laughed, trying to support his own weight as best as he could beside them. "How'd we do?"

"We won. _Obviously_."

"Snotman broke formation, "to prove his undying devotion to his beloved Astrid"," Tuff mocked in a falsetto.

"Let me guess, Astrid decked him," Henry chuckled.

"Close, she twisted his arm until it groaned. Tuff's traps got one guy. Boar got another. And Astrid got the last one saving Snot's ass. Doggy even got the stick like a _good boy_," Ruff said in a way that suggested she was talking about an actual dog.

"You mean the flag?"

"Of course, I meant the flag." She rolled her eyes. "Overall, no one got shot. Except for you of course. But then again, they cheated. Sorry it took so long for us to getcha. You look like they each took turns unloading a few clips into ya."

Henry shrugged as best as he could from his supported position. "It's all good, I did the stupid thing and volunteered. Besides, they're the ones who couldn't handle me kicking their butts."

"May the fleas of a thousand yaks infest their underpants drawer," Tuff cursed in agreement. Knowing the twins' affinity with Loki, it had a serious possibility of transpiring.

They walked in relative silence the rest of the way; the last leg of which Henry insisted on walking by himself despite the kicks he'd taken to his legs. He still had a modicum of pride to uphold, but he was more than grateful when the twins insisted on remaining close to catch him, and together they limped into view.

Coach Hildr was the first to see them, and when she saw his current state, she looked furious.

"Haddock!"

"Ma'am," he acknowledged, clearly looking like he had gone through Niflheim, Muspelheim, _and_ Helheim. Consecutively. Or… you know… got into a fight with a blueberry bush… in combat boots. He stood as straight as possible, giving a half-hearted salute. "Reporting for duty."

"_Hah!_" Simon roistered out loud, pointing as he began laughing. "No one else got shot!"

"Yet I hear Astrid did all your fighting for you. Good job. I hear that really impresses the ladies," Henry replied nasally, his voice bland as Simon's face turned crimson. Astrid just rolled her eyes.

"Besides! H took out four of them," Tuff countered smugly, holding up all five fingers on his free hand. If the others didn't look at them like they were lying, then they might have appeared shocked.

"Before they ganged up, and shot him after," Ruff explained, staring patiently at their CO.

Hildr processed this for a moment before she said, "I'll need to review this."

"Would you review it if it was Simon? Or Astrid? Or… anyone else?" Henry dared, his shoulders shrugging animatedly in his frustration, earning him a round of painful twangs down his back. Her hesitancy was the only answer he needed. "Whatever. What time is it?"

"4:18," Astrid answered, looking him over as though he was a giant bruise; at least, he felt like one. Of course. Routine as usual. No one thought that a hiccup could pull that off. But what did he care? They only used him as bait anyway. They didn't actually expect _him_ to contribute.

"Then I need to get to work." He was already limping back toward the showers. "This was fun. See you guys tomorrow for another round." He did nothing to disguise the bitterness in his voice.

He slipped inside the locker showers, jerking the shower handle on before he began unclothing. He was quick to clean, not wanting to be caught by anyone else in there. He followed by returning into his civilian clothes and packing up his paint-ridden camos in a plastic bag to take home. He had some spares, so he could wash them later… after they soaked in a detergent solution though. He didn't even bother with the crates and such that he'd left outside. It wasn't technically his job to put them up anyway.

Even as he jumped into his pickup with his backpack, clothes, and whatever remained of his calm and patience; he made sure not to slam his pickup door, huffing in frustration as his forehead smacked into the brim of his wheel. It was always like this. This was routine. Another day, like a bad song on repeat. Sure, it started off decent enough, but it always descended the longer it drew on. He'd suffered with it for years, but then, how much longer could he take?

"Work. Right," he mumbled, taking a deep breath, and squashing down any unbidden feelings he had no desire to express or let out. He had years of practice. It wouldn't do good to start showing it now. He hesitated for a moment before cranking up the radio, droning it out as he backed out of his parking space, and pulled out of the parking lot like a bat out of hell.

_… … …_

"Oh, nice of you to join the party! I thought they'd finally knocked your punctual brain-cells outta yur head!"

"Who me?" Henry retorted as he walked in, pack slung over his shoulder, eyes narrowed tiredly. "Not for lack of trying. With paint ball guns. Multiple ones. To the head."

"Addin' ta yur bruises, 'ey?"

"And sore muscles to boot." He sighed deeply. "I'd rather work here than train with a bunch of dunder-heads for a career I didn't choose."

"Aye, tha' ya do. Don' forget ta put on yur gloves 'fore ya get started. Wouldn't do for yeh to lose a finger on theh job."

"And you know that I'm more likely to lose a whole leg than a finger."

"Goin' big I see."

_Gary's Auto, Metalwork, Smithy, Tow (and Everything In-between)_; where the slogan was: _"If we don't know how to do it, we'll figure it out eventually"._ It was probably the most versatile establishment on Berk, and Henry had worked there since he was old enough to press buttons and do paperwork. Sooo? By the time he was seven (no child labor laws on Berk, not that anyone else his age was working, so it wasn't really a widespread issue). Fortunately, it wasn't always busy. Or perhaps unfortunately. When Berkian's wrecked, there were no half-measures, so they rarely had to do maintenance on anything since most vehicles didn't last long before they were decimated.

Metalwork was rarely needed unless for custom lawn ornaments or someone needed to replace a bolt nut. Although, they did occasionally have to weld something back together. The only smithing they really did was gunsmithing, and ironically, Berkians treated their hunting rifles better than their own family. So that left the towing, which was probably the most profitable side of business, though Henry wasn't sent out for those.

Of course, there was electrical work, plumbing, farm handing, construction and detailing, house painting (Henry enjoyed that one), roofing, heating repair, mechanical issues, pest control, and of course, dentistry. None of which they were certified for. Why? Because Berk.

Qualified however… well, there was a reason the Hofferson Hall hadn't needed maintenance in years.

Henry set his pack in the main and only office. He had claimed it by covering the walls and windows with designs and blueprints, some as old as the day he had torn apart his first blender. They served no real purpose other than to tinder the embers of his extinguished mind; to remind him of much, much better days. All things considered, it _was_ practically his at that point, considering his far superior computer, secretarial, and organizational skills than that of his boss and mentor.

Speaking of which. "As soon as yur ready, give ol' Gobber both yur hands will yeh." Garreth (Gary) "Gobber" Borkleif, was surprisingly cheerful for a "Viking" and a twenty-year military veteran; his head and chin bald and smooth as the day he was born, but his dirty blonde mustache was the most luscious and vigorous in all of Berk. He was built as tall as six-foot, muscular, and carried a generous mead-belly. His sea blue eyes were wizened, kind, with intelligence and empathy aplenty; unlike most people Henry could name. The first thing that drew most people's attention, however, were his prosthetics. His left arm and right leg were replaced with advanced mechanical models that were the closest emulation to their original biological counterparts that the Berk military could grant him. Besides the inability to feel sensory input, they functioned near exactly like normal limbs.

He'd been a mechanic in the Archipelago military, and if his old war stories held a candle of truth to them, the operator of a Boggler RH–326 APC (Armored Personnel Carriers) Amphibious Light Tank, also known as "Roving Halls". He'd lost his leg at the lower thigh in an IED explosion in transit mid-mission, losing a quarter of the troops he was transporting to the fragments and shrapnel. Henry never brought it up, knowing that on the anniversary to the day, Gobber would close shop, drink, and recount the events all on his own; and Henry wasn't shy to be an open ear. It was how he coped, and Henry knew that if anyone deserved the time to grieve and mourn, it was Gobber. The man had been there every step of his life, the least he could do was be there when he needed _him_.

After an Honorable Discharge and Medical Retirement, ol' Gobber had gone on to become Berk's military head mechanic and engineer; only to lose his arm below the elbow when it was caught in a gear grind. After that, he'd retired into a more civilian life, just shortly before Henry had been born. He'd been long standing friends with his own father, so it was little surprise when Gary was named Henry's godfather. It also didn't hurt that Gobber was also Ingrid Hofferson's biological half-brother, and therefore, Astrid's maternal uncle.

Henry stared after his mentor, and like most things every day, he was reminded of not just what life in Berk's military could entail, but also life after. There was a chance of coming back home a few limbs short, and even the possibility of not coming back at all. That didn't even account for the things he might see… or the things he might do. There was a consequence to every action, and at the end of it, Henry only hoped his spirit would survive at least half as well as Gobber's had. But even as he was, his godfather was still marred by his days out in the field.

"Be right there," he responded, gritting his teeth as he slowly peeled off his shirts, his stretching giving way to an involuntary groan. Putting on his work shirt was an easier matter, the steel grey uniform embroidered with his name right over his left breast, and the shops logo – an appropriate Viking double-axe and anvil – plastered on his back. He'd been there over a decade; he'd better damn well have a company shirt by then. He also had free dental. *shudder*

He walked out greeted by a sight in the shop. "Oh, gods. Wha'd he do to you?"

Gobber slid out from under the ruins of a vehicle he was working on, a sleek sports car, one of the few on the island. Or what crumpled mutilation was left of it. "I's naw tha' bad."

"Are you kidding me?!" Henry exclaimed, hurrying over, his hand hovering over the destroyed vehicle, as though even its remains were unworthy of being touched. "Wh- Who? This is- was, a Model-7 V6 Turbo Vanasphere! This thing probably costed more than this shop, _errrr_… no offense."

"None tak'n," Gobber shrugged indifferently, pushing and twisting the adjusted drill wrench attached to his prosthetic, off. He got up to grab his original mechanical hand from the tool bench, holding it to the socket before the machinations ticked into place, pulling it together with a _clum!_ Newly whole again, Gobber wiggled his metal fingers before nodding in satisfaction, putting his drill attachment on the bench. "Aye, Milton Bagrif's boy wrecked it. S'poss'ta be a birthdeh present ur someth'n'. Boy survived, bu-tah, it was pr'tty much tot'led."

"But you saved the car… well, most of it," Henry stated with a raised eyebrow, gesturing to the lifted, surprisingly intact, engine block hanging by mechanical pulley just over the hood, and then to the crumbled shell and misaligned frame. As mentioned beforehand, when Berkian's wrecked their vehicles, they went all out. It was a wonder so few, if none, of them died. Hardheaded Viking stubbornness probably.

"I' still works," Gobber protested, gesturing to it. "Beh'sides, the Bagrif's woulda just 'ad meh send it to be recycled at the junk yard down inteh spare parts. Bu' as yeh say, it's an expensive beaut', an' I know a certain young man who could fix 'er up good as new."

"And resell it?" Henry wondered, already divvying up the cost-to-material ratio, as well as potential work hours spend on it. The car would more than pay for itself even with resell value, and the remaining money wouldn't hurt to put back into Gary's shop. Original parts were out of the question, since Henry knew that replacements would shell out more than the car was worth. Nope. It was looking more like a custom job.

If only he could get the damned 3D printer working properly.

"Aye that," Gobber affirmed. "Bu' maybe not until we test drive 'er. Ya know. For quality assurance."

Henry smirked as he tried to keep from snickering. "Oh! I see how it is." He flawlessly deepened his voice into a mock Viking imitation. "Wanna look awll _fancy_ ta theh rrest of Berrk? Show off yurr new rride and awll that?" The key was the deepen the L's and roll the R's.

"Naw just _look_ fancy!" the older man protested, waving his prosthetic passionately. "I wanna _feel_ fancy! _Posh_ enough to dine with the British queen!"

Henry's smile somehow grew wider despite how his day had gone, his head shaking in wonder. Yeah. Working with Gobber cheered him up immensely. "I'll see what I can do," he said normally.

Gobber nudged him with his elbow to grab his attention, earning him a small hiss from Henry. "Oh, sorry lad. Rough day?"

"Yup," Henry groaned, massaging the agitated spot. "Same as always. I leave my mark, and then I get new marks. Tale as old as me." Henry began prodding around the pieces, mentally breaking the car apart and reassembling it.

"Well, I wa' 'bout teh offer up the car," his boss stated. "Yeh know, if ya get it all fixed up and finished, ya can take it out. Impress some lady friend of yurs." He gave him a gentler, but purposeful, nudge with his elbow, his bushy brows wiggling. "Jus' make sure ya clean up afta yur done."

Henry's swung around to look at Gobber, the look of horror on his face prevalent for all of two seconds before he tripped over his own feet, smacking face-first into the car's side with an indignant moan of barely concealed pain before sliding to the floor, his face squeaking against the destroyed vehicles side.

"Ah," Gary commented, looking less than impressed, and even bored. "Well! I'm sure yu'll impress 'er anyway. Just unleash all that Henry charm on 'er."

Henry rolled over to look at Gobber. "I think I'll take a hard pass. Save my dignity. Maybe join a convent. No girl wants to go out with all…." He gestured up and down to himself "…_this_." He half sighed, resting his hands on his belly from his prone position on the concrete.

"I hate teh break up yur… broodin', bu'…." Gobber reached down, hefting the young man up by the scruff of his shirt. "Ya got time ta figure out who's sweet on yeh later. I don' pay yeh to lallygag ar'und, so up to it."

Henry took the embarrassment of being lifted like a naughty puppy in stride. At least from Gobber it was good-natured and didn't draw up any hard feelings or resentments. "Anything particular in mind."

"Aye. I gotta go hoist some daft bastard tha' got 'imself stuck in the mud without proper tires," Gobber stated in irritation, already swinging a key chain around his finger as he walked toward the back where the tow truck was parked. "You man the fort."

He was already out the door before he peaked back in. "You. Stay. Put. Here," he directed, gesturing around the shop. "Ya know what I mean." And just like that he was gone, the only indication of his departure present in the sound of the tow engine starting and the _crunch_ of tires fading over gravel.

"And where would I go?" He just shrugged already heading back to the office. He'd just rotate his time between doing his homework, organizing the shop's paperwork, and taking apart the car to find out what was still salvageable and what needed ordered. He did have an essay to write anyway. Either way, he would have to take calls as they came in.

After work, he'd head back to the Hofferson's home, maybe grab something to eat if he was hungry enough, before taking an ice bath, work on some project or other, and go to bed. If he was lucky, he'd avoid Astrid, and enjoy whatever was left of his evening in relative peace holding an ice block to his head, and an ice pack wherever the pain was greatest. It was only Wednesday, but it was routine. It was normal. Nothing deviated outside of predictable parameters. Despite the good or the bad, it was safe and secure. Guaranteed.

Besides, it was Berk. When did anything exciting happen anyway?

* * *

**Author's Note:**

And there is part two. I just realized that introducing Berk is going to take a lot more than a few chapters, but rather, it'd be best to explain it as I go. It's an exploration process.

If you have any QCC's (Questions, Comments, Concerns; respectfully), let me know via Private Messaging or Review. Any and all questions pertaining to future chapters, characters, etc. is subject to the SPOILERS! clause 9 section 24b of Form B-36.

That being written, please indulge my curiosity and let me know what parts you guys liked, what parts need work, and overall what you guys think about it :D _Fury_ is more or less in a Rough Draft phase, so I'll be editing it every now and again to implement improvements.

Don't forget to Review, and I'll read ya guys next time with Fury - Chapter 3 (still don't have a solid title for it yet).


	4. Chapter 3: What Crawled Out

**A/N: **Hey guys! SteinMon here!

_**Trigger**_** Warnings: **Demonstration of killed personal. Mentions of those KIA and MIA, as well as the beginnings of military repatriation and informing families of the deceased.

I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I _am_ here to learn. That being said, I also respond to Reviews.

_**Review Responses:**_

\- vangian13: Those changes will take place, but the most important areas have been established... I think. To quote the movies a little bit, Fury won't change who Henry is, he'll just make it... easier.

\- Midsully: Astrid does show some inclination toward Henry. It's very, _very_ subtle, but it is there I assure you. It's not about the break in mask, its how she acts before the mask even comes up *hint, hint*

\- "No Account": Thank you! We'll see.

\- Anonymous Noob the 2nd: Berk and every other island in the Archipelago are military states (as openly stated in Chapter 1; Paragraph 106; Sentence 2). While many of the jobs are military, the rest are rather civilian as no country or province is run solely on its military. :)

\- "Eris": And below is the next chapter. Enjoy! :)

***End of Responses**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person.

I would also like to point out that I don't own any media that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story. Any topics or subjects (military and occupational) that come up are _not_ from a professional stand-point, but are written with as much knowledge I could garner through research, common sense, and from friends and acquaintances with experience in those matters. I may have also watched some YouTube :P

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

Chapter 3: What Crawled Out

_Same day… a couple hours prior..._

The Archipelago air was chilled and brisk, even with an afternoon sun threatening a high of thirteen degrees Celsius. The open sea below rocked and churned, the cold East Greenlandic current and the warmer Norwegian current creating a weaving cross-current between all the islands, their collision hidden beneath the waves. The winds were light and mild, giving no precedence to the sea below.

It was on those winds and over those seas that a single chopper propelled through the air, the vibrations from the coaxial twin rotors creating a skip-beat drone that seemed to both resonate and desonate across the sky. It was a small craft, only large enough to house the pilot's nest and a couple of seats for person transport. Its design was jagged, cold, and sleek; like a shark… or a glacier spine; the twin exhausts settled just behind the cab leading to the thin, but sturdy, tail. The fins stabilized, and the back rotor edging it into the briefest of corrections, leveling out just as smoothly as before as it tilted forward.

Inside behind closed sliding doors, two men sat, barely aware of the bland ocean scenery.

"…An' 'ow farr does this detour puut us b'hind?" the first asked. Field Marshal Stoick Haddock was, in every sense of the word, Vast. Vast height. Vast chest. Vast muscles. Vast Viking mead-gut. Even the strands of his magnificently voluminous braided deep red beard made a statement to how Vast he was; though in recent years, some of the strands looked more copperish as they aged.

Six-foot-nine with green eyes and an immovable sternness about them, he was dressed in his best uniform - recently pressed - his rank stitched into the shoulder, his achievements pinned to his breast. Anyone who caught sight of this man-mountain was liable to stand aside and salute, even without his rank prominently on display. Thankfully, such vastness could sit down relatively comfortably inside the helicopter, the model custom built for a man of his… vast qualities.

"Best guess? A week," his companion answered. "Leaving mid-meeting was bound to set us back; it makes us seem… unbalanced, dropping everything like that. Some of the other Chiefs will take advantage of your absence. Especially Alvin and Oswald."

He sighed, wishing he had a block of ice for the growing ache between his brows. "I know. Bu' Stephen called, an' if somethin' did 'appen, we need to ge' ahead of it, meetin's orr not."

"And he couldn't have informed you over the phone?"

Stoick sighed deeply, his features relaxing and aging a little more with no one else present. "I know this is your first time with this particular project, but trust me Dagur. In this case, you don't discuss details over a phone. Ya can't describe the horrors in words, and ya never know who's ear is listenin'."

Dagur Oswaldson just nodded gently, appreciating the need for security. The age of twenty, and his shoulder already bore the rank of First Lieutenant. His red hair was cut short but still stood up on end stubbornly; his green eyes were so dark, they were almost black. He was on the more muscular side of toned, his chest a little deeper in his own formal military dress. His stubble was scraggly along his slight underbite, even though he'd just shaved earlier that day. A blue three-clawed tattoo slashed across his left eye, giving his resting scowl a slightly more intense look. A similar tattoo was on his upper right arm, but remained covered by his formal uniform.

Taking deep breath, the younger man looked at the watch on his wrist, noting the time. Almost reflexively, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out two small bottles. With a practiced hand, he decapped both, holding their lids to the side as he shook out one pill from each. He swallowed them dry, recapping the bottles before putting them back in his jacket.

"Yeh feelin' alright there?" Stoick asked, watching the younger man critically.

"Yeah," he answered with a small smile, "but you know Heather worries if I don't take my meds on time."

Stoick nodded in understanding. "Rright. Best no' llet the llass worrry." Stoick wouldn't normally be so dismissive of such dependencies, especially from his Aide. Medication wasn't the Viking way; a barrel of mead often times was the only medicine one could need. But then again, Dagur had been diagnosed and prescribed by Berk's top physician, and she wasn't one to make many mistakes: Bi-polar, minor psychosis, and PTSD. All at the age of fifteen, when he and his sister had first made their way to Berk from their home island. Gods only knew what they boy had gone through before stealing himself and his sister away from Berserk, but hey were at least merciful enough to ensure that the children were protected.

So whenever Dagur swallowed his pills, the Chief let his disdain for such dependencies go for the moment. Outside his prescriptions, Stoick found Dagur was an exemplary Viking. Strong, decisive, steadfast, and loyal. Qualities that had allowed him to rise in Berk's ranks on his own _and_ become Personal Aide to the Chief of Berk, despite his home island. And if the meds helped steady those traits, he wouldn't argue.

"How is the llass any'ow?"

Dagur leaned back, resting his head as he took a deeper breath. "Studying hard. She has some University credit going for her. Sounds like she's also shooting for a scholarship program in Marine Biology."

Stoick nodded. "Any young men in 'err llife? I can send ya on lleave forr a bit if need be to vet 'em out."

"If she does, she isn't saying," he pouted. Why wouldn't she trust her big bro with her love life? '_Oh right! Because I'll kill'em.'_ That was a sound reason; not a good one, but a sound one. If anyone so much as looked at her inappropriately, he'd take their necks in his hands and–

"But it sounds like she's doing good," he continued quickly, before his thoughts could catch up to him. "Her grades are solid, and Henry makes sure the cupboards are stocked every weekend. So she's not gonna starve."

He mentally smacked himself when he realized he'd brought up Henry. He didn't have to see it to know that Chief's demeanor had changed. Something about the air had shifted. It wasn't angry or exasperated; it was more disappointment. And sadness.

Though Dagur didn't know what there was to be sad or disappointed about. He liked Henry. He was a standup guy; he was a swell guy. He didn't mind that Dagur was on meds, he drank only what he could handle (which wasn't much, but there were exceptions sometimes), he had a sense of humor, he was honest, he was smart, _and_ he didn't try putting moves on his sister. Dagur had no complaints, regardless of his future military potential. Oh! And he made the best ragout Dagur had ever tasted. Mmmm, with apple cobbler. It also didn't hurt that he wasn't _too_ sore about Dagur using him as throwing knife practice when they were younger.

"That's good," the Chief whispered softly. "Glad to know she's being taken good care of."

They continued along in the chopper, barely another word passing between them unless it was necessary. Dagur busied himself with his work tablet in hand, eyes furrowed as he scrolled through some documents. Every now and again, he'd present it to Stoick to look over, and he'd sign the document with a stylus before passing it back. And so it would continue on as they travelled. A Chief didn't rest, so neither woyld his Aide.

"_Chief_," a voice finally called through the over-comm.

"Aye?" Stoick answered, looking up toward the front cockpit.

"_We're within transmission range. Would you like me to alert them that we're incoming?_"

"Aye," he answered again, closing his eyes for a moment as Dagur packed up the tablet in a shoulder bag at his feet. When Stoick opened his eyes again, he was immovable again. He was as stone. He was Chief of Berk.

"_Great Hall, is this Longship L-221, do you copy?_" the pilot broadcasted.

A moment later, an incoming transmission warbled. _"Hearing you loud and clear Longship. Please enter identification."_

Stoick reached over, picking up a headset at his side, puting one ear to the speaker and the microphone to his mouth. "Grreat Hawll, prreparring identification. Thorr – Fáfnirr – Shielld – Vallkyrrie – Sigurrðrr." His breath hitched slightly, his eyes closing as his fingers sought out the metal band around his finger. "_Várr_."

A couple moments passed. _"Identification accepted. State your business."_

"Fielld Marrshawll Haddock llandin'," Stoick stated gruffly. "Need I say morre?"

A little (obviously very manly) squeak sounded through the headset and over-comm, drawing an amused smirk from Dagur. _"No! No trouble sir! Have a good- I mean safe- I mean… welcome sir!"_

"Good llad. We'll be therre shorrtlly." And with that, they cut further communication.

Dagur snickered lightly. "You probably just made his week."

"Orr scarred a year or two off 'is llife," he countered with a wry chuckle of his own. He sobered quickly however. "No matt'rr wha' 'app'ns, or wha' we see down therre, not a worrd lleaves the islland without my say so. This is top prriorrity, and I'm holldin' you to sillence. Underr norrmall cirrcumstances, you woulldn't 'ave accompanied me, bu' it was rratherr llast second."

Dagur's brows furrowed seriously, nodding in understanding. "What's the clearance level?"

"It can't be discussed untill afterr we've llanded," the Chief stated resolutely.

Dagur's mouth twisted in surprise. _'Woah. Like super-duper secret. Top brass only. "Mutter about it, and you're dead" secret.'_ Both worrying and somewhat intriguing. He had to tone down his excitement behind a stoic exterior. If the Chief was this somber about it, then it whatever had happened couldn't be good. _'No! Bad Dagur!'_

They didn't have to wait long when the pilot announced they were decending. The landing was as soft as could be expected, jolting slightly before the pilot began powering down. Even as the high-pitched whine of the engine slowed, Dagur slide the door open, jumping out onto the tarmac before stepping aside for the lumbering form of the Chief.

With the blades still spinning, Stoick had to bend down his extra tall frame to prevent from _almost _decapitating himself, his pulled back-hair knocked this way and that by the generated turbulence. Even slightly disheveled, his Vastliness made any witness assume that the helicopter would face severe punishment for its insubordination.

"Stoick," a voice hailed in greeting.

"Stephen," Stoick reciprocated, both men clasping forearms firmly. "Bad day forr an inspection."

"Even worse for a funeral," Stephen retorted softly before turning to the addition. "Ah, Dagur. 'Aven't seen ya since ya were tyke. 'Ow's yur da'."

Dagur scowled as he clasped the Major General's arm. "Alive, unfortunately." They all had their trigger words. His father was his.

Stephen's brow raised, intrigued, but read well enough into both his and Stoick's posture to let well enough alone. "Right. Well, I assume since you're here that Stoick's givin' ya the okay." He gestured for them to follow, leaving the heli-pad behind as walked down a short path to a large concrete building.

Even as they entered the well-lit, but bland, foyer, furnished only by a single secretary desk and the overhead lights, they were greeted by a grisly sight. Body bags lined up on the ground, a couple of them laying on gurneys. Some were straight and elongated as they should be, others misshapen like all they could find were the pieces. There were few people milling around them, all of them dressed in thick rubber suits.

"What's the butcherr's bill?" Stoick asked, kneeling down to inspect one of the tags.

"Twelve initially dead followed by another twelve, totaling at twenty-four. Two whole squads. Bastard didn't take down any of the guards once it was free and clear of the elevators though," Stephen answered bitterly. "None wounded, one missing."

"Missing?" Stoick asked, barely turning his head.

"The host it used to escape," Stephen answered. "We're tracking them even now."

"And theirr famillies?"

Stephen hesitated a breath. "We held off on repatriation. We were hoping to return all of them at once. They were brothers. They deserve to be buried as such."

Stoick nodded sternly, as he glanced over another tag. "It's a good sentiment, Stephen, to want to brring alll ourr llads home at once, but therre famillies need to know. The soonerr… the soonerr they can grrieve, the soonerr they can begin healling." It wasn't that simple. Stoick knew that better than most.

The loss of a loved one, especially in military service, was never something that could truly be recovered from. It left a wound, deep as a knife could plunge. It might mend, but sometimes the wound got infected, spreading dangerously to every aspect of life. Sometimes, a scar formed, cruel and ugly, twisting any view of the world. It was so very rare, that the wound healed cleanly. Time, though, would only tell if the infection abated, or the scar faded.

With a mighty sigh, Stoick stood, sniffing slightly as he gestured for them to continue. Stephen lead them along, prompting both men to keep following.

It was a short walk to the elevator doors, two armed guards on either side standing at attention at the officer's approach, their weapons readied. There they were witness to the retracting doors blown outward from within, the reinforced metal looking like a piece of paper a pencil had been stabbed through. The edges were melted from something burning intensely hot; hot enough to carbonize the metal. "It destroyed the elevator," Stephen stated, stepping through the hole and onto a platform that hung suspended over the maw that lead down. "Luckily the lads were able to install the backup platform, otherwise we'd still be stuck down there."

They followed him, the platform more like a grate, giving them a cold hard view of several stories below them; and the long drop it could entail. True to Viking standard, it lacked any form of railing.

"Lower us down," Stephen commanded. One of the guards outside the destroyed doors picked up the control box of the lift, pressing the down button. With a slightly lurch from the impromptu cable, they were descending into the darkness, the shaft only sparsely lit every few stories.

Stephen looked at Dagur as the young man stared at passing handprints and half-circle shapes embedded in the cracked concrete from an unfathomable amount of repulsion force, each side dotted with the marks zig-zagging back and forth all the way down… or up as it were. "Ya alright boyo."

"Just… processing," Dagur said somberly, turning to look at both men. "What could have done that?"

"Thuh most ville crreaturres ta everr crrawll the pllanet," Stoick stated, his tone as hollow and dark as the elevator shaft. "They know no merrcy. No compassion. They take without cause, and they kill without quarrterr. All that they touch, they destrroy. They'rre llittlle morre than weapons to be conquerred and used."

"Tell that to them," Stephen muttered under his breath, earning a cold stare from Stoick.

"So… what happened?" Dagur risked asking, noting how hostile the air had gotten. It was a first for him, seeing this side of the Chief. Even amidst the Archipelago's other chiefs, he held a reserve of irritation; and at times, anger. That… that was hate written on his face, like a man with a vindictive thirst that couldn't be quenched.

"Containment breach," Stephen stated as they continued downward, noting Stoick's change in demeanor. "Seal was open. No sign of breakage, no sign of forced entry. Beast was clever. Lads doused the room in gas, but it used its weight to airlock itself in a beaker. Grabbed one of the boys pukin' 'is guts out, and from there, it was a slaughter. All it had to do was use create holes in their armor, kill the host it occupied, and jump to the next man."

"Did it feed?" Stoick demanded.

"Pulled as much as it could," Stephen answered. "Nearly turned the labcoat it got into a skeleton. The first squads bodies it left with mild vitamin and mineral deficiency, and minor muscular atrophy. Didn't take anything from the second squad. Just killed 'em as soon as they opened fire. From what we could tell, it'll be stocked for a short while, at least until it has ta start feeding on its current host.

"Didn't even try to break into any rooms," Stephen went on. "Only thing on its mind was getting out. We didn't even know they could plan like that."

"They possess cunning, alright." Stoick tensed up, even as the elevator jolted to a stop. "Which specimen?"

"MC-6211825. The "Hel-Spawn" sir."

A small amount of relief and disappointment made its way onto the Chiefs face, but it passed so quickly, Dagur was sure he imagined it, quickly fading back to cold stone. They all quietly stepped off the elevator. And right into the footprints. Red, bloody boot prints that trailed down the hall and disappeared around the corner. Some of them were on the walls even, and just below them the remains of turrets and automated defenses.

"Thor almighty," Stoick whispered, as if he could see the full extent of the carnage that had taken place. "How much did it get through?"

"Every security measure we threw at it," Stephen sniveled, clearly not wanting to see a visual aid to his failure. "Destroyed everythin'. We'd 'ave lost more if its sole intent had been destruction. Even the blast doors couldn't 'old it."

"So is it a parasite?" Dagur asked, breaking his contemplation to the surprise of the other two men. "You keep referring to the subject and its "host"."

As if to further add to his education, men in hazmat suits were guiding two vacuum-sealed canisters on automated rollers, both stacked side-by-side. Seeing both Field Marshal and Major General, they pulled off to the side, standing at attention and saluting. Stoick and Stephen saluted in return, passing on without a second glance. As they passed by them though, Dagur caught a glimpse of something inside one of the canisters: a purplish writhing liquid that sparked with blue electricity. At his glance, it smacked into the side, trailing after him within its containment like one half of a magnet.

_'Curious,'_ he thought, returning his attention in anticipation of the answer.

"Aye. Worse than a tapeworm. Once it burrows in, ya can't flush it out unless it wants out," Stephen stated, leading them down another series of halls, these ones relatively clean by comparison. "But if it wants out, yur dead. Those two specimens were in the same lab as "Hel-Spawn". We're 'aving them transferred to a more secure location until we can decontaminate and fix up the lab."

Stoick nodded. "On that note, has there been anything promising?"

"Not a single successful bond," Stephen stated warily, his posture slouching slightly as they walked. "We're making progress, but integrating the beasts is like an organ transplant with a mind of its own. It's not just compatibility, it has to biologically match with its host. If there's no compatibility, the creatures reject the host. If there's no biological match, the hosts body rejects the creature. It's a precarious balance, but we think we're getting close. Especially _with_ "Hel-Spawns" escape."

"_With_?" Dagur inquired, raising a brow.

"This is the longest its ever bonded," Stephen stated, his tone changing slightly to his association of progress. "So biologically, his current host is sound, and given the need to escape, that means compatibly was sound, however temporary that may be. We have most of our labs analyzing the corresponding data as we speak."

"That is good news," Stoick nodded, but didn't smile. "But that still means we have one specimen, and one soldier, unaccounted for. You said you were tracking it?"

"Aye, about that…." Stephen gestured toward a pair of double-doors that swung open at their approach. They walked into the command center, the multitude of screens drowned amidst the over-lights, and people milling about their business.

"Field Marshall on deck!" Stephen shouted.

Dagur had to hold back a smirk at how quickly people ceased everything they were doing to stand at attention and salute. But he couldn't fault the look of awe that each and every one of them had as they looked up at the entering officers. They didn't show that amount of respect for just anyone. It was _Field Marshall Haddock_ after all. A legend even to his own generation. After all, rumor had it that he'd stowed away on an outbound troop deployment when he was only twelve years old and had almost single-handedly won all the battles that pre-teen had taken place in (though the Chief had humbly claimed he was fifteen).

Did Dagur believe those rumors? Yes. Yes he did. Even the other islands in the Archipelago didn't question it. Rumor could have been that he personally assassinated Adolf Hitler, and no one would question it. The number of campaigns he had _personally_ lead; the number of successful missions; the number of rescued soldiers and civilians alike. When a rumor about the sheer tenacity of Chief Haddock was repeated, you didn't question it; because it was _probably_ true.

"At ease!" Stoick stated, turning back to Stephen. "You were saying."

The Major General looked ill-at-ease as he beckoned them to his office. Once all three of them were behind closed doors, Stephen sighed, his hand still on the door handle even as it _click_ed. In case he needed to make a break for it. "We've been tracking the Specimen through his hosts comm-unit. Thankfully the hardware is waterproof. According to the trajectory… um–" He cleared his throat, like a man preparing to deliver bad news.

"Spit it out, Stephen," Stoick ordered, causing the other man to flinch. "It can't be any worse than the fact that it escaped in the firrst pllace."

Dagur could feel the glacier that suddenly breathed on the room. He knew that look well enough from when he was younger on his home island. Major General Jorgenson had the look of a man that preferred the prison isle of Freezing-to-Death.

"It's swimming straight for Berk," he stated, his hand half-twisting the doorknob.

It was silent for a moment. And then two.

"_WHAT!_" The whole room quaked, and every face in the command center shot up toward the little office near the back.

Dagur flinched back, finding a safer corner to cramp himself into as he looked between both men rapidly, his face completely passive. He didn't even know _what_ exactly was heading to Berk, but from what he'd seen, he didn't want it anywhere near the island. His sister was there after all, and gods help them if anything happened to her– He shook his head to stop that _very_ dangerous train of thought.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN ITS HEADING FORR BERRK?!" Stoick clarified in rage.

The Major General was surprised, even having expected this sort of reaction. "When it escaped, it began swimming, and according to trackin', it'll end up in Berk within a day or two."

"That's ourr island and peoplle it's heading forr, Stephen!" Stoick snapped, his meaty fist slamming down on the desk. With a creak and a crack, it splintered in two.

Stephen "the Spiteful" Jorgenson's face took a dark turn to match Stoick's. "I know. My boy just got out of school and my wife is probably makin' dinner. I have things to lose too, Stoick.

He took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. "There was chance it could have started toward any other island, Stoick. But Odin wouldn't have been with us 'ither way. If it attacked any of our allies, or gods-forbid our enemies, it could mean all-out war in the isles. But with it headin' to Berk, we not only have home advantage, we can keep the situation contained. I've already set it so some men can go home on leave. They'll still be on duty looking for it. Their jobs are to observe and report. Once we can confirm its location and host, we can capture and detain."

Stoick, while not known for keeping a cool head where Berks integrity was concerned, let those words sink in. It was a sound plan, but still part of a situation that should never have happened in the first place. He took several ragged, deep breaths, trying to calm himself again.

"Dagurr," he directed to his aide. "Have alll rreporrts and filles incoming trransferrred to Berrk. Untill this is overr, we'lll be therre worrking frrom home." He turned to the stunned Major General. "Stephen, find someone you trrust to man this forrt like yourrs and 'is carreerr depends on it. Because it does."

Dagur nodded at his own orders, sightlessly pulling his tablet out of his shoulder bag to do exactly as the Field Marshall ordered. As soon as he began doing so, a _ping_ sounded over his device. "Um, did you want to schedule a family dinner?" he asked, before hastily adding, "Sir?"

Stoick's anger snapped straight to bewilderment. "Wha'?"

"I have it automatically set, so whenever you head to Berk, an alert pops up to ask," Dagur stated. "Your orders if I remember correctly." It was one of the few times he'd begged Henry for help. Dagur wasn't a computer wiz, but Henry had managed to create a filter for any scheduling in Berk to automatically ask for confirmation. Not that Stoick ever needed to know that.

Stoick sighed, realizing that he'd backed himself into a corner on this one. Ingrid and Gobber would have his ass tied up and shipped to Australia if he was showing up and didn't tell them in advance. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Do it."

Dagur hid a smile as he quickly set up the schedule. He'd get to see his sister! That was never a dull thought. It had been almost six months since the last time he'd seen her in person, and gods he missed her. _'She better not have a boyfriend. I'll kill 'im. I'll fucking kill 'im!_' He had to hold back a little manic giggle at that thought. And his self-adopted sister! She was tough and always interested in military matters, even if he couldn't tell her any of the classified stuff; stuff like this. That made the smile on his face brighter. He could taunt her with this entire thing, and he'd have the glee of making her frustrated.

Ah, and his self-adopted brother! One of the few people Dagur actually admired a little. They could do all that stuff that bros did: play video games, drink cheap beers, talk about chicks, complain about old people (it's an honest past-time). Gods, when was the last time he had someone to actually talk to besides himself? While he understood perfectly that he was only going to Berk because of work, he was still excited all the same. It's where his family was. His real family.

He'd get to spend time with his favorite people, _and_ hunt down a host-changing parasite that could evidently suck the nutrients right out of someone. He was almost glad. "Almost" being the operative word. If what he had picked up was true, then it had killed, and chances are, it would kill again. This time, Heather could get caught in the crossfire. He couldn't get excited about that. Whoever had let that thing out, if Dagur ever got his hands on them, he'd show them what a pissed Berserker looked like!

Now _that_ train of thought peaked Dagur's interest. "Um… sir?" he asked slowly, his thoughts converging on a single conclusion. "Major General, sir, you said that the thinga-ma-bobber was released from an unbroken compression-lock container, right?"

Stephen and Stoick both turned to look at Dagur. "Aye," Stephen stated, wondering where he was going with this.

"Then who had access to open it?" he voiced aloud, his claw tattoo furrowing with his brow, creating a more intense scowl than he intended.

Stephen thought on it for a second. "Some of the people in this room, a couple lab technicians, and any other General who knows about this. The only problem is, no one's ID here was traced to it. No computer glitches, no electronic trace. Why?"

"Then how did the container open in the first place?" he asked, both men looking at each other.

That was a good question.

"Now just a moment," Stephen stated, raising his hand in ceasing. "You think there's a leak?"

Dagur shook his head, looking between the officers in front of him. "If there was, it could have easily been blamed on anyone here. But the source was unanimous."

"Meanin'," Stoick picked up, "that it coulld have been trraced if they trried impllementing anyone herre. They woulld have left a trraill no matterr how smalll."

"But who would benefit from releasing a parasite?" Dagur asked. Judging by the way the two General's side-glanced at each other, it was clear that Dagur didn't have the full story. Or the most important information. And given the looks they were giving each other, it was a bad question to be asking.

* * *

_Meanwhile, in the Middle of the Sea…_

He was tired. Or more specifically, his host was tired. Swimming for hours on end with no rest, and no food was gradually taking its toll. Neither he, nor the flesh-bag he had used to escape that underground prison were built for swimming, and their slow progress was showing it. While the host's body was relatively accommodating, it was weak-willed and smelled faintly of… _snnn, snnn_… rotting garlic and sour alcohol mixed with the seawater. Not his preference. But pickers couldn't be choosers, especially since the chances of finding this good of a match in that prison again were slim to none. Nope! He wasn't going to be picky. Finding a tenth-decent host was hard enough as was.

But it wasn't enough. At this rate, he'd have to start leeching from the host's body, otherwise, he wouldn't make it to any landmass. He couldn't even properly form around this body, not that he had much mass to spare anyway, being malnourished as he was. He hadn't fed properly in stars knows how long before yesterday. He didn't prefer eating the humans, but they imprisoned him, put bad hurting liquids on him, starved him, and put him to sleep with that damnable gas countless times. When the seal opened for his prison, he wasn't going to stay contained. Escape was the only option at that point. The smart one had replenished much of nutrients he required. The strong ones that tried to put him to sleep again were nutritionally imbalanced, but helped all the same.

It had been a last-second decision, so he killed the strong ones to feed and so they couldn't hurt the host he occupied. Then they tried hurting him with more gas and their bad _pew-pew_ machines in the walls and ceilings. It didn't help that he also had to expend energy creating blasts to get through their hard metal doors. Humans loved their hard metal doors for some reason; probably because it made them feel safe, and made it hard for him to get through.

Ergo, he was exhausted, and his host wasn't fairing any better; especially swimming in this heavy gear that he still couldn't figure out how to get off. How humans got in and out of these things – like scales they could interchange – was beyond him and the strange funny paws that humans had were hard to use.

He stroked across the rolling waves, beginning to feel the cold through the hosts cells, down to the bones. There wasn't enough heat. It was wet too. The cold he could stand, but wet and cold was a dangerous combination. Huffing, he kept swimming awkwardly, unsure how he hadn't drowned yet with how heavy this body was. If he ever made it out of this, he was never swimming ever again. Hopefully he could find a proper host that let him stretch and mold properly so he wouldn't have to swim.

"_OOOOOOOOOOWWWWW-WWW-WWW!_"

_'What was that?'_ he thought, his head darting around.

He stopped in the water, treading carefully along the surface to keep from sinking. He spared some mass to his ears, lifting the flapping appendages up from the hosts fat skull as he looked around, trying to discern where the disturbance had come from.

"_OOWWWWW-WW-WWWWWW-WWW!_"

"What's wrong, Plate?!" Another human?

"Storm's commin', Mulch. I can feel my plate tighteni– _OOOOOWWWWW-WWWWW!_"

He turned this way and that in the water, finally finding the source of the sound. A decent-sized boat, rolling in the water gently, its paint all but gone. A large rope was hanging from a crane, sinking deep into the water. The body he occupied made up its own mind as he began to swimming toward the boat with renewed vigor. He didn't care what it looked like or who was aboard, he just wanted out of the cursed freezing water.

"Ah! It sounds like a big one," the other human stated, looking up at the sky. "Not a single cloud though. Still, can't be as bad as the Blizzard of Olaf. Thank Thor that winter's still a hop and a skip away. But still, we outta turn in for the day. Fish are barely coming in as is. Best not to get caught out in a storm."

_'Hold your large metal beast's fins you fools!'_ he thought, struggling to keep his head above the water as he made for the watercraft. He took a deep breath before diving under the water, weaving up and down in the water as he propelled forward as fast as he could. Unfortunately, he couldn't project as much as hoped through the host. He was limited to the hosts senses, which were superficially weak by comparison. How these humans survived with such weak senses was beyond him. But damned his host and his poor eyesight, especially with how much they stung when they opened underwat–

_Smack!_ He rammed headfirst into the boats bow, using his hosts funny paws to hold his head bitterly as bubbles escaped his maw. If his host's body wasn't practically dead already, it probably was now from sheer blunt trauma. He scrunched the nose and face, pursing the human-lips as he instinctively made a face that he assumed humans made when they were hurt as he pawed his way to the surface.

"What was that, Mulch? Somethin's ran into the boat. Do you think it's Finn's white shark?"

"Plate, how many times do I have to tell ya: There is no white shark. It's just an old tale Finn's been tellin' the island fer years now."

"But somethin' really ran into the boat, Mulch."

There were rungs on the side of the boat. Excellent. He tried to use the funny paws to pull himself up, but he couldn't bend them properly. He could barely feel them? Ah, humans lost feeling in their limbs when they were cold. He tried stoking his inner fires, chuffing as feeling did return, sending painful pin pricks through the limbs. Stupid host-human. He bitterly climbed up with his newly awakened fingers, peaking over the edge for any threats. There was equipment and the like blocking his view but looked safe to hide behind. He padded carefully onto the deck, crouching down to keep himself hidden.

"Well, no matter. Whatever it is, it's gone. Let's go ahead and get the net pulled up."

"Right! … … Um, how do I do that again, Mulch?"

_'How do these humans get anything done?'_ he wondered as he listened, stalking behind more equipment. He felt the sudden urge to stuff his funny paws into the space under his arms. To preserve warmth, he realized. But he could still smell the hosts stench and didn't want his borrowed paws smelling like that. Survival, or decent smelling paws? Today he chose the good smelling paws. _Snnn_. Especially with this hosts armpit stench.

"Oi!" the Mulch human exasperated. "We've been over this before Plate. Red button to drop the net, stick to control the crane, and blue button to bring the net up. Got it?"

"I think so."

"Good! You bring up the net, and I'll open up the bay."

He heard a _clang_ing sound as this "bay" as the human called it, was opened, and … _snnn, snnn_… something delicious wafted up to his nose. His host-mouth began salivating as the most delicious smelling thing in the world assaulted his nostrils. He warbled gently, his eyes dilating wider as stalked forward sideways, like a cat. Much harder to do in such a bulky body. Stars, he needed a better host! He peeked around some of the equipment, noticing the smell was coming from an opening in the deck.

"It looks like we got a little bit, Mulch," the Plate human called.

"Aye. She'll do just fine, Plate. Now bring 'er over. Nice and slow."

Seeing his chance, he leapt forward, diving into the hole opening. He was met with empty air for a moment, before _splat_ing onto something soft, wet, and slimy. _Snnn-snnn_. This was it! He picked up one of the slippery things, surprised when it shot out of his hand. He tried to pick up another one, only for it to do the same thing.

_'Curse these human paws,'_ he grumbled, trying again. And again. And again.

Growling in frustration, he opted to forgo his hosts terrible appendages and used his mouth, teeth sinking into the slimy flesh. He moaned happily as the taste filled his mouth and nose. It was delightful. Some of the slimy creature's juices stuck on the hosts furry face, making the smell linger pleasantly. He bit down and into the slimy flesh, licking it hungrily before ripping off chunks. His host-body was having a hard time with the slimy creature's bones, but he ate merrily around it.

A moment later he heard something detach, and several more of the small slimy things fell into the hole he had dived down from. They were catching the slimy creatures. Slimy-catchers? They caught the num-num slimy creatures. A grateful, but quiet, _click_ing clucked in his throat. He liked the Slimy-catchers. Much better than the _pew-pew_ humans; he'd eat the nasty _pew-pew_ humans, but the slimy-catchers had num-num's. He'd let them live.

"That should do it Plate." A deep _squeak_ing sound droned as the lid closed over, bathing him in darkness. "Let's turn 'er around and go home."

It was dark. Again, damned his hosts limited senses; and damn that his host wasn't the best compatibility. That was fine by him. He had a cache of food for a little bit. Plus humans liked their land, which meant that these humans were probably going to their land. As long as it wasn't water. Swimming wasn't fun. It was cold. Being cold made him hungry. So he ate. And ate. And ate. He ate like he had never eaten before. There was plenty for him. The slimy creatures didn't run away if he used his hosts teeth; they only ran when he used the funny paws. When he had eaten his fill and more, he sniffed out a decent place to lay down. He didn't have the energy to heat himself a spot, so he turned in a circle a few times, patting down the slimy creatures into a makeshift mat, and huddled up as comfortably as he could in his uncomfortably bulky host-body.

The strange shedding soft scales that his host wore were still heavy, and retained the wet too well, but he didn't know how to take them off, so he shifted as best as he could so it wouldn't feel too funny. It wasn't exactly warm, but it wasn't as cold as it was in the water. So the moment he got as comfortable as possible, he crooned as sleep took him, letting his dinner settle as he drifted off.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Introductions to Dagur and Stoick. Implications of things to come. And some of the dark and innocent thought processes of a parasitic entity.

If you have any QCC's (Questions, Comments, Concerns; respectfully), let me know via Private Messaging or Review. Any and all questions pertaining to future chapters, characters, etc. is subject to the SPOILERS! clause 9 section 24b of Form B-36.

That being written, please indulge my curiosity and let me know what parts you guys liked, what parts need work, and overall what you guys think about it :D _Fury_ is more or less in a Rough Draft phase, so I'll be editing it every now and again to implement improvements.

Don't forget to Review, and I'll read ya guys next time with Fury - Chapter 4 (still don't have a solid title for it yet).


	5. Chapter 4: Under Perception

**A/N: **Hey guys! SteinMon here!

_**Trigger**_** Warnings: **None that I could tell.

I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I _am_ here to learn. That being said, I also respond to Reviews.

_**Review Responses:**_

\- vangian13: Plate does have a metal plate in his head. I might go into why later, but not now. Too much to do, so little time to do it.

\- Court818: That's for me to know, and for you to discover over the course of a journey :D

\- Dragonholic: He'll probably start with the pancreas. And if he's still feeling hungry, then the liver. There's also always a side of kidney if he's famished.

\- "No Account": Thanks! And I suppose the chapter itself is the response to "Hope to read from you soon!"

\- "Eris": I can say with almost 97% certainty that what your asking is SPOILERS! material. But it's that spare 3% that has me worried.

\- Anonymous Noob the 2nd: And I loved writing it! XD

\- Midnott: Thank you, and I will try to do so!

***End of Responses**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person.

I would also like to point out that I don't own any media that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story. Any topics or subjects (military and occupational) that come up are _not_ from a professional stand-point, but are written with as much knowledge I could garner through research, common sense, and from friends and acquaintances with experience in those matters. I may have also watched some YouTube :P

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

Chapter 4: Under Perspective

_Later that Evening…_

Henry sputtered as he opened the door to the Hofferson residence, quickly walking in to keep the Berkian night air from blowing into the living room. His eyes widened as he shut the door, blinking through his glasses with implied mania, a little exhaustion, and no shortage of pain. He hung his keys up quietly, groaning as the day caught up to the backpack on his shoulders, making it grow heavier by default. He rolled the weight off, letting it plop to the ground without a care.

Bright side was, his essay was almost done. The pros and cons of the volcanic eruptions in the long-term obtuse view of Archipelagic history was over half finished! He was _NOT_, repeat "_NOT!_" picking it back up… at least for a solid seven hours. His brain hurt from writing eight-thousand of the thirteen-thousand-plus words (because he had the approximate length already measured out) used to describe the geographical, political, economical, and cultural significance of the event in question. Never let it be said that he worked in half-measures. He had milked every ounce of cranial space and study he had dedicated to the subject. In a mere five hours, he had pulled most of a working assignment out of his ass and it was wonderful. At his current pace, he was destined to finish it tomorrow, including the citation page. To that case-and-point, he was heading straight for the freezer.

With a grunt of frustration, he remembered to take his shoes off, plopping them off to the side as he moved to the kitchen. It was a short trek, that consisted mostly of dragging feet. Thankfully, work had been kind. Few to no calls had come in. Sadly though, Henry hadn't left the office long enough to actually take a decent inventory of the wrecked Vanasphere. Once he was on a roll, it was hard to decelerate his thought process.

"_Sthool wur firth_," he yawned resignedly to himself, finally approaching the fridge. His hands didn't move for the freezer, or the welcome ice block with his name on it. Instead he blinked half-lidded as he went to the fridge below, pulling out items he would use tomorrow for breakfast.

Bless her heart, Ingrid Hofferson had left some dinner wrapped in a plate and foil, the rest stowed away in plastic containers for later use. With a heavy sniff, he began to prep everything for breakfast tomorrow, starting with clean hands. He went about it with ease, unflinching that the night and quiet somehow made even the simple act of chopping an onion sound like the world was crashing down. He didn't bother putting any music on, trying to keep his body alert and awake as he continued to chop with a _very_ sharp knife in hand. Fingers were important, and he wasn't keen on losing any while he was cutting things up.

Aaand _that_ was just the thought he needed to send a jolt of adrenaline into his system.

He spent his time moving efficiently but carefully, his body and mind keeping some semblance of coordination as he finished. He'd already decided on a boar sausage gravy over a boar bacon and cheese quiche. He could reuse some sausage from breakfast a few days ago. Might as well use it all up. It took half-an-hour to prepare, package, and set aside the makings of his sleep-addled culinary genius.

With another yawn he began to muddle up the stairs, remembering at the last second to avoid the sixth step up before heading to the bathroom between his and Astrid's room. From there, it was a simple matter of plugging the bath drain and turning on the cold water.

_'I'd like a warm shower for a change,'_ he complained to himself, especially since it would be practically freezing outside too. Sighing, he stripped his clothes down and set aside his spectacles, before lowering himself slowly into the water. He flinched for a moment as the cold pressed on his nerves, causing an involuntary hitch to roll through him. By the time his chest was submerged, he was feeling a pleasant numb following the shiver. From there he just lay in the tub, breathing slowly as the cold both slowed down his breathing, but also kept sleep at bay. It was nice, but he had inventory to take.

Begrudgingly, he looked down at his stomach, aware of the bruise on across his lower left abdomen. His knee too was five shades darker, the mark shaped like the imprint of a steel-toe. Thankfully, neither were overly swollen. His breathing was fine, even if walking was a little sore. Overall, he'd live to struggle through another day.

Even as the idea of a warm bed beckoned him, he slowly lathered himself with bar soap, being careful not to stretch too hard while doing so. Within moments, the surface of the water was coated in a thin film of THOR Pine Tar bubbles (made with 100% natural ingredients fit for a god! Including the essence de pine), the scent already worming its way through Henry's nostrils and wrapping around his brain as he visibly relaxed. He quickly washed his hair in the bath water, scrubbing the sweat out of his follicles before uncorking the water drain. He procced to stand under the shower head, rinsing in cold water that left him gritting his teeth now that the air had purchase against his skin.

When he stepped out, he was only slightly less miserable than when he entered, but it was _that_ little bit that counted. It was only when he reached for his towel that he realized he'd forgotten his pajamas. His nice, warm, very comfortable pajamas that he now had to go out and get.

Berating his lapse in judgement, he wrapped the towel around his waist and walked the chasm-distance of less-than ten feet to his room, quickly hopping into his warmer bed clothes before once more exiting for downstairs. By the time he reached the bottom, it was apparent that there was still life in the Hofferson Hall besides himself.

Astrid sat on the living room sofa in her own pajamas, knees to her chest as she nursed a coffee mug, not even looking up as he moved to the kitchen once more. She must have come down while he was in the bath. He smoothly grabbed the plate Ingrid had left for him, removing the foil, and depositing it in the microwave before setting the time to cook it. Normally, he preferred his meals heated in an oven or on the stove, but he was hungry, and it had been a long day. While he waited, he noticed the kettle on the stove, still steaming from the spout. If he had to guess, it was for tea.

Reminded of tomorrow, he checked the coffee pot to make sure it was set. Interestingly, it was. He had just enough time to make his observations before the microwave beeped. Once he had man-handled the hot plate, he retrieved a fork from the drawer before he moved to settle over the counter to eat.

"You might as well get your ass in here," he heard from the other room. "We can either do this now or later."

He groaned, letting his head smack into the counter with an audible _thump_ before scooping up his plate, rebelliously stuffing some of it into his mouth. Cottage pie? No, the meat was too tender. Sheppard's pie? The meat was soft enough to be lamb. He shrugged off his tangent, thankful regardless for the food, and instead, focusing on his impending doom as he reentered the living room, immediately met by a pair of impatient blue eyes. This was exactly why he wanted to avoid Astrid in the evenings.

"Sit," she ordered, with as much vested authority as she thought she had. He complied with an eyeroll, stuffing his mouth once again. The moment his bottom hit the couch, her mug was set down, picking up whatever was set at her side. "Shirt up."

He chewed and swallowed, grunting as he put his plate on the coffee table. With a wince, he lifted his shirt up to his bruised gut.

"Thor damnit Haddock," she hissed. Before he could comment, he felt something cold smash into his side with too much force.

"_Owww!_ Astrid!" he bit, his face scrunching miserably. "I'm more than capable of making my own bruises bigger."

She didn't respond, completely focused on his side and the slush-pack she held against it. "Did you take a cold bath?"

"Yes," he responded simply, as much as he wanted to make a sarcastic comment. _'Cold-cold! It's cold!'_ he thought bitterly, especially when the rest of him was just finally starting to warm up again.

"Where else?" she demanded sharply. When he didn't answer, she slugged him in the shoulder.

"Damn it! My knee!" he answered with a growl, about ready to lose his shit. He was too tired and sore for this. "And now my shoulder."

"Suck it up," she snapped back, snatching his right hand to hold the pack to his side as she picked up another one before changing seats to the coffee tables edge. "Roll up your pantleg." Not quite put off his dinner _yet_, he stuffed a couple more bites into his mouth before obeying, earning him an eyeroll and scoff. "You can eat when I'm done."

He wanted to snap back but took a single deep breath as she applied the pack to his knee. This is why he hated it when she looked at him like a giant bruise, because as soon as he got home after work, he was subjected to her sub-par Viking-rough medical treatment, regardless of the time of night. "What's the verdict Doc?"

She gave him a sharp, unamused look, "I'm not a doctor yet, nimrod." She noticed the moment he struggled to find a retort, before he finally submitted. It didn't seem to bring her any pleasure though. They both knew why, and it was enough to bring them back to neutral ground. "Is there anywhere else?" she asked, much gentler now that _that _had passed.

"Everywhere," he admitted softly, his eyes narrowed at his plate as she continued to hold the second pack to his knee. "Nothing dislocated or broken. Just chronic muscle fatigue."

"Look who's the doctor now," she jabbed, not a trace of humor in her voice. Irony abounded, since they both were looking at going into the medical profession; both for differing and similar reasonings.

They both finally submitted to the silence, and Henry found himself just as confused as he always was. This was yet another reason why he didn't know where he stood with Astrid. And tomorrow, he'd make breakfast, she'd have the pleasure of throwing something at his head when he woke her up, and life would continue as normal until she gave him that "look" again. Then she turned into… _this_.

"So, you really took out four of those guys today?" she asked, breaking the silence for a little small talk. It was the only time she really talked to him, so why not?

There was no point in turning it into an argument, so Henry answered. "Yeah. One with a headshot. The other three with a grenade." He scoffed tonelessly. "They didn't appreciate it."

"I can see that," she responded just as bland, readjusting her pressure on his knee. "And work?"

"It was good," he answered simply.

It was quiet again, and strangely, that was fine. It was like a job: you just muscled through it and waited it out. It was the closest that came to peace between the two of them, so Henry wasn't complaining about it; even if getting to it was like wrestling a bull yak.

A couple minutes later, Astrid pealed the pack off his knee, giving it a twice-over before nodding at him to do the same. "Try and actually get some rest tonight, Haddock," she ordered, taking his pack from him before walking them back into the kitchen.

"I'll try," he returned, his gaze never leaving the table even when he heard the sink. He lowered his shirt and pantleg back down, wincing as the previous cold skin grew flush hot as blood rushed back to it.

Astrid was back in a moment, a glass of water in one hand and pills pinched in the other. Henry accepted them, swallowing the ibuprofen tablets before taking a mouth full of water to chase the mineral taste away.

She nodded satisfactorily. "Night Haddock." And with that, she was already heading up the stairs.

He waited until he heard her bedroom door close before he let out a conflicted sigh. "Night Astrid." It was a routine they had that broke routine, only cropping up when necessary (by _her_ standards).

He didn't hesitate to pick his plate back up, shoveling his food into his mouth before leaning back into the couch's soft cushions as he chewed, eyeing the coffee mug she'd left behind. He was tired. And yet, he wasn't going to get the sleep he wanted, nor the sleep Astrid requested he get. Already his mind was doing the final flight check as it prepared for take-off, ready to ride at a few hundred kilometers an hour.

He only hoped that tomorrow was easier to navigate than today had been.

_… … …_

_The next day…_

As predicted, the morning routine had been just that: Routine. He'd spent the course of the night finishing up his essay during his two or three insomnia-induced wakeful periods. He'd woken to "_High Hopes_" dashing his hopes of more sleep, and began making breakfast as usual. He'd taken the blunt end of one of Astrid's throwing knives to his forehead for his pains, and the day had commenced as usual. Nothing was amiss. Even the ride to school was as equally uneventful, and Astrid was back to her "cheery" self.

Whatever bright side he was searching for was also diminished by getting to school, meeting the shoulders of his peers and underclassmen alike, and now staring at a computer screen on the second floor of the building. His University classes weren't suffering, but his eyes were in the computer glare. Once again, routine as usual.

Not that he showed it. He dutifully sat through the classroom portion of oncology, letting the information flow into him as the other half of his brain focused on something more troubling, like the reduction in heat for a plasma inductor. The exact same problems he'd had yesterday, and the day before. The problems never ended, even day-to-day. And when he wasn't working, he was listening to music to cool his overheated brain.

And right now, that meant listening to a choir/orchestra take on _Imagine Dragon's "Believer"_. Rather appropriate with how he was feeling; "Pain" indeed, with an instrument section that was capturing the erratic range of his frustrated emotions. To that end, it was absolutely soothing.

"Hey Henry."

He bolted up in his seat, completely startled. His body made a protest as he jarred his muscles, and with a pained groan he eased back into his chair, pulling out his earbuds as he looked over.

"Hey Fredrick," Henry greeted back, slowly stretching even as his body protested with more pain. _'Shit! I jarred my knee.'_

"How goes it?" Fredrick asked, already seated and ready for his own classes.

"Same ol', same ol'," Henry responded, massaging his knee softly but firmly. "Classes, headaches, and the indescribable sensation of a bruised knee. And you?"

Fredrick made a rather giddy noise with his nose, his arms bunching up to his chest as his clenched meaty fists quivered. "_Ohhh!_ They let me near their maps! _Oh-hh-h-h!_ I've never been more excited!"

Henry couldn't help the humorous snort that followed with a toothy grin. "Really Fred? Maps?" Only Fred could draw up the necessary excitement over a piece of cartographic parchment.

"Not just any maps," he corrected matter-of-factly. "Berk naval maps." He began to spin in his chair, the seat groaning in protest to his excitement. "The oldest cornerstones of our history made modern! Did you know that there were sea stacks just off the coast of Berk hundreds of years ago?"

Of course he knew that. They'd learned that when they were little fourth years. Not that the teacher then could compete with Fredrick's anticipation and excitement. "Go on," Henry encouraged, smiling all the same.

"Well, part of the reason Berk stayed so condensed was when the stacks collapsed from the volcanic tremors!" Fred continued, spreading his hands against the computer desk as though the maps he'd seen in-question, were displayed before him. "It gave some of the expelled lava something to build up on when it the lava flows finally reached that far out into the ocean. Not only that, but older maps also point to several landmarks that are probably buried under all of that deposit."

"Such as?"

"Weeeell, there's a high probability that our ancestors carved statues out of some of those sea stacks!" Of course. Vikings loved carving into anything that could hold their visage; vain bastards that they were. Why not a sea stack? "If just one- One statue survived the tremors, it would be preserved beneath us. Buried."

"And that's what you took away from Berk's _military _naval maps?" Henry asked, more and more amused as his friend went on. Fredrick had the decency to blush, his mouth clopping shut in embarrassment. "Never change Fred. Never change."

"An-Any way," Fredrick continued on before Henry could, "I just thought I'd share. They have me doing most of the navigation courses anyway so it was an interesting thought."

Henry nodded. "Indeed it is."

"So." He could already sense the switch in topics from Fred's demeanor. "We lunching here?"

"Unless you got other plans?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow at his huskier friend.

"_Mmm_, stop grinning like that!" Fred protested, his face heating once again.

Nope. Not gonna happen. Fredrick had been asking that same question since he first understood what the word "crushing" meant; and Henry was gonna draw as much mileage out of this as he could.

"If you like her that much, then just ask to eat lunch with her," Henry suggested, knowing deep down that it was a fruitless suggestion.

Fredrick's head smacked into his computer desk, causing it to lightly _crack_ somewhere in its framework. "Girls suck," he groaned from under his face-plant. "I'm too nervous."

Henry would have let it go then and there. He didn't exactly understand _what_ Fredrick was going through. Sure, he'd had crushes before, but _that_ had been a long time ago. It was safe to say that he was better off looking somewhere else in the world for a girlfriend. Maybe Canada.

"Maybe I should take smaller steps," Fredrick voiced to himself, lifting his head off the desk in realization.

"Good start," Henry agreed.

"Maybe I should start by being…," he gulped nervously, "…visible."

"Great idea," Henry supported robotically.

"We should eat lunch in the cafeteria!" Fred finished his theorizing excitedly.

"That sounds…. Wait, what? We?"

"Please," he begged, looking at Henry with those blue puppy eyes. Like a Saint Bernard that had long since outgrown its owners lap. "Just until I can handle being there on my own."

_'Thor's crotch beard! NO!'_ Somehow pariah status didn't seem to faze Fred in that moment, and Henry wished he could be half as enthusiastic. It wasn't like they didn't lunch in the cafeteria sometimes, but he was sensing something more long-term in the making.

He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, slowly bringing it to a pinch at the base of his nose. He could do this! For his friend, he could do this. But he was calling in an IOU later. "Well, I _do_ need to rest my eyes after staring at a computer for so long." It was an excuse, but Fred understood the show of support when Henry offered it.

"Great! This is gonna be awesome!"

_'Dear Freyr,'_ Henry prayed, clearly thinking the opposite of Fred, _'You gods don't normally care for my prayers anyway, but I'm asking for this occasion to commence in peace.'_

He looked back at his computer screen, now too nervous to think about his school subjects. His cranial flow had been dammed, and now he was worried.

_… … …_

Suffice to say, lunch wasn't a peaceful occasion. The mere walk to the cafeteria was a warzone, Henry avoiding shoulders like they were IED's. No one tried to elbow or shoulder Fred. Science and repeated study had shown that doing so would only result in knocking themselves down. Henry however was fair game physically.

The lunch ladies were serving yak sandwiches – like always – the unimaginative culinary "delight" that was so common on Berk, it was basically a crime not to eat the simplistic meal at least half-a-dozen times a week (so that made Henry a criminal in the first-degree); and it was only a few dry yak slices smashed between two slices of bread that may – or may not – have been filled with saw dust. Most of the teens would be buying canned mead (all-natural honey-flavored of course, delicious either chilled or warm) from the vending machine to capitalize on Berk's drinking age of fourteen; but mostly to drown out the taste of their horrid meal. The food was as tasteless as the people eating it, and Henry couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor, unimaginative bastards.

It was their fault for not thinking outside the box.

"Yay," Fredrick cheered unenthusiastically as he eyed his school food, already regretting his decision to eat among the masses. "A yak-wich… again. With baked potatoes… again. Ugh, even bugs won't eat this stuff."

"You forgot "hold the toppings and condiments… again"," Henry reminded dryly, feeling something akin to remorse for his friend as he pulled out his own lunch.

"Henry? Is that a-" Fred started with wide eyes, only for a tray setting down loudly in front of them to interrupt, followed by a deep whiffing inhale.

"Three meat (mutton, boar, and yak), two cheeses (provolone and swiss), lightly peppered, cabbage, tomato, with thinly sliced dill pickle, a touch of mustard and thinly spread eel sauce, all between two pieces of whole grain bread. Ergo-!"

"A real, damn sandwich," Henry stated with a dare resting on his raised eyebrow.

"That's cold bringing that here, H. Glacial cold. Arctic cold. Antarctic cold!"

"Then everyone else should learn how to make their own damn sandwich." With no regards to the dirty looks he was getting from multiple persons around the cafeteria that had stopped to stare at the culinary creation, Henry took a long. Sloooow. Bite. Just enough to enunciate the fresh cabbage _crunch_.

"Your evil. Pure, unrefined, _Evil_!"

"Tuff, how are you now?" Fredrick asked kindly, trying not to give Henry the "stink eye" for his theatrics. They were here for a reason, and none of this was helping.

"Well, I _was _good," the male twin stated, finally taking a seat before flopping a chin onto his fist. "But now- now I'm just hurting. Like there's suddenly a sandwich-sized hole in my heart."

"In your stomach you mean?"

"That's what I said. In my heart."

"It wasn't exactly planned, Tuff," Henry explained, part of a tomato hanging from his lips. "Otherwise, I'd have at least brought leftover beans for your chickens."

Tuff sniffed slightly, a potentially crocodile tear sliding from his eye. "The chickens… love… beans," he sobbed quietly. "Please… make plans… next time… guys. For the… chickens." He back to his normal self in a heartbeat, said tear sucking back up into his tear ducts. "So, when are we gonna wreck the _Skyrim_ multi-player scene? I'm talking my two-shielded Orc beef-tank cut-purse Grogen of course, but what about you guys?"

"Hunting other prey," Henry stated, glancing pointedly at Fredrick.

"Hunting?" Tuff stated in revulsion. "Why hunt when you can just buy the pelts and leather from blacksmith's?"

Henry snapped his fingers in front of Tuff's face, gaining his attention. "IRL, Tuff, IRL."

"Oh," he said, somewhat disappointed before the idea made him smile wickedly. "So pray tell my compatriots, what dastardly creature are we hunting IRL?"

"Please stop," Fred moaned.

"The most elusive of all creatures," Henry stated, already preparing to spin a tale.

"Go on."

"No," Fred moaned again. "Don't "go on"."

"A species so feared, no man has hunted it, and come away unscathed," Henry elaborated, grinning like a kid.

"No one unscathed?!" Tuff exclaimed, his hands clopping to his cheeks in horror.

Henry shook his head in miserable defeat. "Never before has there been such a fearsome creature more terrible, more feared, and yet, so sought after. Nor will there ever be again."

"Sto-op!" Fred had reduced himself to wrapping his arms together over the table and hiding his face in shame of his friends.

"What is it? Oh, tell me H! You can't build up the suspense and leave me hanging!" Tuff was shaking with excitement, about ready to sacrifice his life and limb to do battle with this beast Henry so eloquently described.

"Behold," Henry said with some "him-flair". "The female species."

The Thorston visibly deflated, glaring half-lidded at Henry for his treachery. "The Tuff is not amused. Besides, females are gross."

"Your sister's a female," Fred pointed out, his voice muffled by his buried face.

Tuff's eyes widened, as though– "My whole life. Has been a lie," he whispered, his lips quivering. "I thought she was a _girl_!" he sobbed, just before his face straightened as though nothing had happened at all. "Wait! Are you saying you're hunting my female, formerly a girl, of a sister? That sounds great! Can I help? What are we using? Guns? Bows? Spears? Axes? Flamethrower?"

Henry began chuckling, even as Fredrick began muttering out his will and testament to his next of kin. "No Tuff, we're not hunting your sister, and it's not that kind of hunting."

"Not that kind?" Tuff looked between the two of them like they were high. "What other kind of hunting is there? This isn't trap and release is it?"

Fred groaned harder and Henry had to fight against the desire to laugh.

"Fredrick wants to work up the courage to eat lunch with a girl," Henry stated, keeping their conversation to their table. No need to announce it to the student body.

Understanding dawned in the male Thorston twin's eye, and his grin returned once more. "Oh. So _that _kind of hunting. In that case…." He set a reassuring hand on Fred's shoulder, prompting the larger boy to look up. In his best dignified and authoritative voice – a stretch for Tuff either way – he continued, "… Sir Fish, never have I loved a brother more than to pass on my most sacred duty. I willfully, and with full acknowledgement of the consequences, pass responsibility of my sister's well-being to you. Happy hunting."

Henry had to admit, this was funnier than he anticipated. It didn't hurt that Fred was turning bright red. "Henry wasn't talking about your sister," Fred whined. It was clear this whole experiment was failing miserably, but it was the process that counted. "I wanted to ask… H-H-He-Heather." He was so red at this point, Henry wondered if he was breathing. There might have even been shades of purple.

"Oh, is that all?" Tuff shrugged indifferently, as if somewhat disappointed he wasn't getting rid of his sister. "Then go ask her. She's right over there."

Of course, all three of their heads swiveled all at once; with all the subtly of a startled yak. And of course, they'd met their match.

On one hand, yes, there was Heather. Dark wavy hair and green eyes that were far to kind for the likes of Berk. Kindness that with all fairness, Henry could only hope for in a woman for his teddy bear of a best friend. On the other hand….

"I am not playing wingman to _that_," Henry hissed resolutely under his breath. Of course! Astrid was sitting at the same table, chatting away. "Nope. No! I refuse." This ship was sinking, and sinking fast.

"You wanna trade?" Tuff asked, looking over at Henry pleadingly.

"No. I am not wingmaning your sister, Tuff," Henry hissed under his breath. "And Astrid would flay you alive."

Tuff looked innocently baffled. "How'd she know my favorite torture method?"

"And just like that, our chances of any of us getting girlfriends in this lifetime is rapidly falling into the single digits," Fish huffed, looking up at his friends. With a sigh reminiscent of a love-sick bull, he turned to look at the phantasm of his affections before looking back down at the cafeteria table. "I wonder what they're talking about."

"Probably about girly stuff," Tuff growled in disgust, scrunching his nose. "Like makeup, and reality TV, and public disembowelment."

Henry honestly didn't care. Other than being there for Fred, this wasn't a priority for him. Sure, it might be nice to think about girls and relationships and the future, but he wanted to make sure he had a future first. It didn't take much for his attitude to turn pessimistic, and with the looming promise of impending military service, it was easier to focus on the bad rather than the good.

He refused to imagine the future; because despite how mundane and normal the moment was now, it would end. And those thoughts always remained, even when he smiled.

_… … …_

"I wonder what they're talking about," Heather commented, not-so-subtly looking across the cafeteria.

"Probably boy stuff," Ruff theorized with a disgusted scrunch to her nose as she munched nosily on some potato chips. "Like sports, and working out, and public disembowelment."

"Why do we care?" Astrid asked, sipping on her smoothie. She honestly didn't get it, there were at least five other topics to discuss, and "boys" is what came up.

"Because Heather's crushing," Ruff stated, earning a pitiful glare from the woman in question. "Well, you are. And on Fred no less; with his tubby cheeks, that rosy red face, and that full buxom Viking build." She chuckled to herself before turning back to her main lunch course, noticeably turning up her nose at the yak-wich in front of her. "Loki, I'd kill for some proper food. I wonder if Henry would pass over that sandwich. I'll bet even the crumbs taste better."

Heather returned the sentiment before looking down at her own food with dissatisfaction. Pretty soon, she was eyeing Astrid's smoothie hungrily. "Say, Astrid? Is that smoothie stuff any good? It can't be worse than what they serve here."

Astrid just shrugged without a care, passing her cold travel mug to Heather without batting an eyelash. "Help yourself."

Heather stole a quick drink, making some inconspicuous noise at the back of her throat as she placed a hand to her lips in surprise. "Gods! Who made this?"

"That bad huh?" Ruff asked.

"Are you kidding me? I'd jump whoever made this!"

Astrid choked on air, suddenly sent into a series of surprised coughs. One fist desperately tried to contain the expulsions, while the other pounded her sternum, trying to dislodge whatever offending spittle had gone down the wrong pipe. "W-w-what?" she gasped out, blinking rapidly in surprise.

Heather rolled her eyes, taking another swig. She let out a moan of approval as she savored it. "Gods, that's good," she whispered, making more affirmative sounds.

"It's not that good," Astrid retorted, looking at her friend like she was crazy. "Henry makes stuff like that all the time."

Heather looked at Astrid pointedly. "Then I guess I'm jumping Henry."

"What?! Ew!" Ruff sniveled. "Wouldn't jumping Henry be like jumping your brother?"

Heather passed the mug to Ruff with a daring glance, earning a disapproving sound from Astrid. Curiosity prompted, Ruff took a drink of her own, smacking her lips as she let the taste settle in. "Well, people already claim the Thorstons are inbreds, sooo–" she said with a nod of approval. "Why haven't you bagged _that_ already?"

"You guys are being ridiculous. He makes it every morning," Astrid stated, snatching her smoothie back with a challenging glare. "It's not like you haven't tasted his food before."

"I mean, sure. But you mean to tell me," Ruff started, leaning forward on the lunch table seriously, "that that scrawny, intelligent, cool-headed, bonafide paintball veteran, improper excuse of a Viking, makes _you_, stuff like _that_, _every _morning? And you haven't shown him your appreciation? For shame!"

"Seriously," Heather stated, giving Astrid a knowing eye that was ill-received. "What else does he make for you?"

"Why does this feel like a setup?" Astrid groaned, rubbing her temples. She was gonna need an ice block after this; only the latest of many occurrences where her friends tried setting her up with the one person she despised, had known since they were in diapers, _and_ held some begrudging respect for. After all, he didn't judge her career choices. If anything, he supported whatever she decided. Not to mention she didn't know anyone else that held the understanding and comprehension for what their future seriously entailed. Henry did. And for that, she could appreciate some of his more lacking facets. It meant she didn't have to worry about him. In that aspect, it made it that much easier to ignore him… right up until he looked like he had been knocking on Helheim's doorstep.

"Duh! Because it is," Ruff admitted indifferently.

"If you don't snatch that up Astrid," Heather encouraged, more-or-less done with the implications on her end, "then chances are, someone else will."

"And why would I?" Astrid asked, an eyebrow raised in demand. "I already live in the same house as him, and _that's_ just borderline offensive. Personally, the sooner one of you two takes him off my hands, the better."

"The fact that his culinary talents are wasted on you. What girl wouldn't want a guy that can cook actual food, and not just steaks and burgers? It's a quality that is rare among the male species," Ruff sighed disappointedly. "And what about the study guides?"

"He makes them for you guys too," she retorted, taking a drink of her smoothie, a vein popping in her hand.

"Yeah," Heather agreed, "but ours don't include "special" pages."

Right. There was that. Henry tended to make custom-fitted study guides for most everyone in his circle, each one unique to the person it applied to. Where he found the time was anyone's guess. Except for the "special" pages that had ended up exclusively in her study guides. They had included everything from inter-connected comic strips that took multiple study guides to read the full story, to simple hand-drawn pictures that reflected a very Henry-esque flair. Of course, she'd come to look forward to those "special" pages; she was still looking for the latest one in the Anatomy guide he'd made for her just yesterday. She'd give him that: he knew how to draw a story that was annoyingly always unfinished, prompting her inquiry as to the following "special" page. Odin take him! And his complexly drawn narratives!

Yes, she despised him. And she held a perfectly valid reason to despise him. Was it his fault? Probably not, but that didn't change the fact that he'd left her in the dark. That didn't mean she didn't sometimes wish they were still best friends like when they were younger. But they weren't kids anymore. She didn't have time for petty things like romance anyway. She was a fighter, and for now, that meant honing her skills for combat. Besides, it wasn't like he was thrilled with her either.

Shaking off her thoughts, and the road that they would inevitably lead her down, Astrid looked at her friends again. "And? Was that all?"

"Wow, she's dense," Ruff commented, earning a glum nod from Heather. With a sigh of her own, they both seemed to relent. At least until the next time they brought it up. They were annoying, but hey, what else were friends for?

"_Anyway_," Astrid strained, her tone turning slightly-too-sweet. "How about _your_ progress Heather?" She was redirecting the conversation, and it was so obvious, it was painful.

"Hmm, not sure yet," Heather answered, taking the deflection in stride, but still giving Astrid a "we're _sooo_ talking about this later" look. "I mean, he's cute, super smart, humble, kind, _and_ strong. Like a giant teddy bear."

"Now if you could convince your brother not to rip said teddy bear's stuffing out," Ruff pointed out brutally, prompting a wince from Heather.

"Yeah. There is _that_," she admitted, giving a so-so nod with her head. Her eyes suddenly twinkled with inspiration. "Ruff, could you chloroform my brother if he tries to kill him?"

"Sorry, I'm not that into him. And there's not even handcuffs involved," Ruff blandly humored, raising her hand to prevent an onslaught of excuses and pleading. "Besides, he works for the Chief of Berk _and_ is taking the elite combat courses from Arch U. Chances are, he can breathe chloroform, is immune to torture, and can outrun the surface tension of water. There's no way I'm risking me, my brother, or our pet boar for your love life. That's on your head."

"You could always just tell Dagur," Astrid offered simply like it was the most obvious solution. Because in reality, it was.

"But that would require her to actually be dating," Ruff countered.

"Fair enough."

Heather cupped her arms before hiding her face, moaning miserably. "I liked this better when we were teasing Astrid."

"Well, _I'm_ not crushing on someone," Astrid pointed out, gently nudging the darker-haired girl with her mug. "You are. Only one way to find out if he's crushing on you too."

"After all, this _is_ the twenty-first century, but we're still Vikings," Ruff stated firmly, smacking a fist into her hand. "Women can now legally club men over the head, kidnap them, and arrange the marriages themselves."

If crickets chirped in the afternoon, or indoors, they certainly would be. Astrid and Heather stared at Ruff for a moment before looking at each other.

"As great and entertaining as that sounds…," Astrid said.

"… I think I'll pass on that method," Heather finished, looking back at her sandwich dejectedly. "Ugh, boys are stupid."

"Since the beginning of time," Ruff agreed. "Well, since that method is off the table, we'll have to resort to… stalking. I guess? For me that's no issue. Breaking and entering. Thievery if necessary."

Astrid sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Freya help them," she muttered prayerfully. Ruff she could understand. She was a saboteur in training; of course she'd think in terms of that training. And Heather… well, Heather was given the option of a civilian life; her brother had ensured that arrangement. She could make whatever life she wanted from that. Astrid honestly didn't get it the disheartening over boys, but then again, she preferred it that way. Just judging from Heather's reaction, it made things confusing. Unnecessarily so.

"Now why do you ladies look so glum."

The three of them visibly cringed. Heather folded her hands over her lap while Astrid and Ruff turned toward the offending voice, scoffing and rolling their eyes before returning to their meal. A yak-wich was preference to those muttonheads as they walked around their table from in front of her. Clueless was missing due to his differing lunch period, not that his contribution would be missed in leu of his nickname.

"Come on, let the Si-man turn those frowns upside-down," the Jorgenson offered in a self-satisfied smirk that made Astrid's stomach churn. If he didn't shut up, she was going to vomit. Exhibit A why guys were unappealing.

"More like "Snot-man"," Ruff muttered, taking a tasteless bite of her yak-wich in the hopes it would settle her own stomach. So far, it was doing wonders, even if the meat tasted like three-week old dried leather and she now had sawdust stuck in her teeth.

"C'mon," Neal "Sheep-face" Hendrickson tempted, sitting down next to Ruff and carelessly draping his hand over her shoulder. "What are a herd of girls like you doing all al-l-_OWWWWWW!_" Ruff lifted the taser from his leg, blowing off the prongs before shrugging his tension spasmed arm off.

"Herd? Do we look like cattle, Sheep-face?" she asked rhetorically even as he scrambled away. "The next shock goes to your Bagginses if you can't keep your hands to yourself." She zapped her taser again for good measure, causing Dillan "Dogsbreath" Axel to flinch, subconsciously covering his coinage. She couldn't blame him. His balls were probably still a little bruised from the paintball they'd taken.

"Back off," Astrid growled, her hand clenching and unclenching, preparing to do damage. "Or are you muttonheads too thick-skulled that we have to do this _again_." This wasn't the first time they'd interrupted a perfectly nice day, and as rest-assured as Ragnarok, it wouldn't be the last.

"What's the matter?" "Boar" Jaal Bjorson asked, sidling close to Heather, who leaned away in disgust. "Don't wanna hang with real Vikings?"

"Real Vikings?" Heather asked incredulously, her voice trembling slightly. Astrid hoped they wouldn't notice, but like most predators, they tended to pick up on distress in their prey.

Unfortunately, this was so common an occurrence that no one in the cafeteria batted an eye. They chatted away at their own respective tables with no awareness extended around them.

"C'mon, Astrid. Baby. Can't you see. You. Me. It's a match made in Valhalla," Simon said as he walked around the table, sitting next to Astrid, his hip bumping her own. As if it weren't bad enough, he reached for her smoothie, pouring some of it into his mouth before she could properly rip out any of his teeth. "_G-lleeehh!_" he gagged, spitting what he had drank out on the floor before trying to wipe his tongue clean with his hands. Tongue still hanging, he muffled out, "_Wha da Heww wath tha_?" He spat again, sniveling in disgust at Astrid's drink. "Why would you drink something like that Astrid? It's all healthy and stuff."

Astrid snagged her mug back, fully prepared to drop it in an incinerator, but she supposed three or four cycles through a dishwasher would do. Maybe five. "Don't touch my stuff Jorgenson, or so help me Thor, I will rip out your liver and feed it to the wolves."

"Babe, it's not that big of a deal–" He didn't get to finish the moment his saliva-wet fingers brushed her arm. She settled for grabbing the back of his head (his hair was unwashed and greasy… Oh gods! She was gonna hurl for real!), twisting his arm by the wrist, and slamming him cheek first into the table surface with a loud _Bang!_ That couldn't go unnoticed by such a filled cafeteria. And yet it did. Viking excessiveness and violent tendencies, and whatnot.

"Boar" stood up from his spot next to Heather, looking about ready to jump the table before a beanbag smacked him square in the forehead from across the cafeteria, sending him tripping over the seat in surprise as he smacked into the ground. He'd be unconscious for a few minutes; Berkian skulls were scientifically proven to withstand greater impacts than the average human after all. Their brains however… meh! As long as there were no _crack_ing sounds.

"Need a hand sis!"

"Nah, bruh," Ruff stated, looking over Astrid's shoulder as she continued to hold Simon's face flush with the table. When he struggled, Astrid forced it back down. "We'll be fine once they lose a few fingers."

Astrid was vaguely aware of others behind her. By the sounds of it, they might have reinforcements, but that didn't bode well for her; she'd rather take them down herself. It wasn't a smart strategy she knew, but it was her strategy. This wasn't war. _Not yet_.

"Try to save the fingers," he answered just behind her, "I want to see if I can raise some flesh-eating chickens. That would be awesome! Chickens that could strip the flesh from a man in seconds! Ha! We'd be unstoppable!"

"Will do," Ruff returned, her taser at the ready again. "Any volunteers?"

"Bitch! Who do you think you–?" Dogsbreath had finally let his coins breath, about ready to reach out for Ruff when the beanbag fluttered past Astrid's face, tactually disturbing the hair next to her cheek as it soared on by, nailing Dogsbreath precisely in his already bruised "sense-and-sensitivities". With a squeak, he met the floor with as much fervor as he had the day before. That was two down.

"Wow, baby! I have got to get me some of those."

It was like Earth's poles had been flipped on their heads. And Astrid was feeling it very clearly. Even in a situation where no one bothered, she could already feel and see the cafeteria's eyes turning in anticipation. Astrid slowly turned, surprised, and yet not, that Henry Haddock was nonchalantly looking over bean bags that Theodore was displaying to him, tossing and catching one lazily like he hadn't just thrown one with intent to maim. Like a high-powered magnet in a room of iron filings, Henry's immediate presence drew all attention from her, Heather, and Ruth.

"You know," he chatted away to Tuff, pointing out a beanbag, "I think I'd take the red. So much easier to keep clean."

"Red's easy," Tuff admitted, apparently playing in Henry's charade. "Personally, I like the green."

"Oi, stupid Hiccup!" Astrid looked down at the table, only to realize that in her "not-surprise" that she'd let Simon go.

"Ah, Snot, it's good to see you!" Henry exclaimed in some overly charismatic flair that was both devastatingly convincing, and strangely over-the-top, like he was an overly optimistic car salesman. "Nonono! Sheep-face, you stay seated! Wouldn't want to aggravate that taser burn," he said, gesturing to the other floored Neanderthal nursing his leg. Henry practically hopped into his distant cousin's swinging range, like he didn't have a care in the world. "You know, I knew I shouldn't have eaten in the cafeteria today, but my sandwich needed to feel special among the unwashed masses of… _snn-snn_… Viking stench, and I couldn't help myself."

Just behind her, she heard Ruff groan and facepalm, "Tell me he didn't just say that."

"Lo and behold, I'm glad I did." He looked past Simon, and Astrid could feel his gaze looking over the three of them. For what? She had no clue, but he seemed satisfied with the result. "Snot, I'm disappointed," he chastised casually, leaning into the man like he wasn't about to get a beating, "I mean, I thought I was the only person you picked on. Then seeing you openly offending and putting these lovely ladies off their lunch; I didn't know you were mistreating other people with your mere–"

Astrid pursed as Simon gave a hard jab to Henry's ribs, luckily on his right side, since his left was still bruised. She'd probably be icing that later.

"–presence," Henry finished rebelliously, sucking a breath. "So… you're _not_ abusing other people? Good. I was feeling jealous." Oh gods, the idiot brought out that dopey grin.

Simon immediately let his fist fly, squaring Henry clean in the clock, sending him tumbling to the floor as his head whipped back.

"Get this through your head Hiccup," Simon growled, stamping his foot forward pointedly between Henry's heels. "You got nothing. When it comes down to it, you're _a-lone_."

Astrid half-glanced around, noticing that not a soul was moving. No one moved to stop the proceedings, no one lifted a finger. Not Fredrick Ingerman, who was watching from their lunch table, biting his nails with a whine as he tried not to look. Not Ruff or Tuff, even though they looked ready to pounce, like the wolfish children of _Fenrir_, _Sköll_ and _Hati_, waiting to be called to the hunt. Not even her. In that moment, he was alone, and the whole cafeteria seemed to hold its breath as it waited for what came next.

And yet he was smiling like he was invincible.

"Oh really," Henry sassed even with a bloody nose and crooked glasses misaligned on his face, bobbing his head back and forth in contemplation. "I have a sense of humor, a killer comedy routine, and an adoring audience." He gestured passively around to said "adoring audience". "What more could I ask for?" Again, with that shit-eating grin!

Simon wasn't having it. One fist bent down, snagging Henry by his green hoodie strings, pulling him limply up. "Let's review that "killer" comedy then," he spat, cocking his other fist back.

"_OFFICER ON PREMISE! ATTEEEEENTION!_"

The singular pounding of boots echoed across the cafeteria like a tremor, every person standing and out of their seats in a heartbeat that no one noticed they'd taken. Their hands sat parallel with their bodies, pointed straight down in rigid stiffness drilled into them from Day One. They weren't military _yet_, and their salute showed it.

"And you! Attention!"

Astrid swallowed nervously from her position, knowing that Henry was still on the ground from where he'd been roughly dropped by a now ramrod-stiff Simon. There was nothing any of them as she watched the back of said officer take up position in front of him, only revealing his uniform back and the back of his shaved reddish head–

Wait a second.

"I'll stand at attention when you get a better haircut," Henry snarked painfully from the ground. She could imagine him rolling his head to get a better look at the officer. "But if I had to guess, you're hair hasn't been cooperative since you stuck your finger in a light socket. Shit happens man."

The nervous murmurs around the cafeteria were whispering calling out how crazy Haddock was to mouth off to an officer.

"And you still look like an over-grown bruise. The bloody nose is new though. Improving the look I see." Astrid knew that voice, and it was only confirmed when she heard Heather gasp behind her.

"Haha," Henry mocked, pushing himself up to a sitting position. "I forgot how to laugh with that uniform tightening around your gut. Must be hard sitting at a desk. You only have to unbutton your pants after every meal so you don't feel bloated."

The officer bent down slightly offering a hand. "Still single I see, otherwise your mouth would be closed."

"_This _mouth? Nah! I'm sure if I had a girlfriend, she'd appreciate my mouth being open. Hard to reach the tongue otherwise." Henry accepted the hand, both clasping at each other's forearms.

Holy _Frigg_, frag, and _Freya_! They had no shame! Is that what guys talked about openly in public?! Astrid was about ready to march forward and punch them both!

"For your poetic prowess, I'm sure," the officer conceded, pulling Henry to his feet. It took a half-second before the larger officer was encompassing Henry in two burly arms. "It's good to see you brother!"

Henry tried returning the gesture but was being visibly squished. "Dagur, need to breath buddy."

The Berserker relented bashfully, resting both hands on Henry's shoulders like he was taking him in. "_Magni_ almighty, you're a sight," he commented, with a chuckle.

"Surprise," Henry jazz-handed weakly, his glasses still crooked. His apparent happiness was short-lived as everything began falling into place. "That means–"

Dagur nodded with a sympathetically. "Yeah. You know the drill."

"Dinner," Henry muttered, taking a deep breath. He looked about ready to blow the vein that suddenly appeared in his forehead. "Alright, just focus. Just two hours of forced peace. How hard can it be?"

Dagur patted his arm lightly. "One second at a time."

"That easy, huh?" Henry scoffed, before looking up to meet the Astrid's eyes. "You might want to greet your sisters, before one hits you, and the other disowns you." He patted Dagur on the shoulder in return. "Good luck. Just don't forget to put everyone at ease."

"Maybe I like them like this," Dagur muttered, turning to poke Simon in the face. The boy in question's face lit up red in embarrassment and fury, and there was nothing he could do about it. "They can't back-talk."

"They can, they just lack the mental complexity to do so," Henry stated before gesturing away. "Go say hi, I'm gonna go… well, clean up." Henry walked away without a care among the statues, muttering under his breath as he stole some random Viking teen's napkins and began wiping blood off on his way to clean up.

Astrid turned her attention back to Dagur, who was approaching their table slowly, even amidst the strained attentions of the entire cafeteria. Astrid could admit, she was enjoying the uncomfortable silent squirming some of them were doing. Gods, she was gonna enjoy the day she could command like that.

"Hey Sis Two," Dagur said, offering Astrid a crooked grin and wide eyes that looked more comical.

"Permission to stand at ease, sir?" she asked, unmoving from her own stiff salute.

Dagur just rolled his eyes before mockingly replying, "Permission granted, Cadet Hofferson."

She nodded before promptly accepting the hug he offered, keeping it brief before she took a step back. "So what's happening Dag?!"

"Temporary assignment," he said, paying more attention to his nails as he polished them on his shoulder, giving them a once over. "On the down low. Can't talk about it. Super classified and all that."

She punched him in the shoulder. "Don't tease me Dagur."

"Oh, I'm not." He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Got to see some cool stuff too. Top brass. State-of-the-Art. Completely black sited."

Her cheeks puffed indignantly as he continued teasing her with the stuff he'd evidently saw. "So not cool."

"Don't tease her too much Dagur." Heather had stepped around the table impatiently, causing Astrid to roll her eyes at the break in military protocol, but who was she kidding. "One of these days she'll get to see something cool and hang it over your head."

Dagur took longer to hold his baby sister, burying his head into her shoulder as he rocked her slowly back-and-forth like he had when they were younger. "Hiya Sprout," he breathed, his eyes closing tight, as if processing in real-time that she was alright.

"Hiya Bean," she muttered back, returning his stance. They took several seconds, eventually pulling away. Dagur was wiping his eyes with his thumb, blinking as he sniffed. "Aw, did you miss me?"

"More than you know," he said, holding her so he could look her over. "Gods its been six months. Looking beautiful as ever." A dark scowl suddenly settled on his face. "Has anyone hurt you? Are there any men in you life that I'll need to disembowel?" There was a collective gulp from every male in the cafeteria.

"And on that note, Dagur," Astrid interrupted, "we do have a time limit on our lunch period."

His face softened just as quickly as it had darkened. "Oh, okay." He quickly turned back to Heather. "Alright, I'll be at the house, so I want you tell me everything you've been up to when school is out," he said excitedly.

Heather pulled him back for another hug before he could take off. "Thanks for stopping by."

"Any time." And with that he practically marched away, his smile as terrifying as it was uplifting.

"Um, do you think–?" Heather asked.

"Nah," Astrid stated, looking at the still-saluted teens and they're desperate pleading eyes. Some of them were even in the beginning stages of sobbing. "This is a good look for everyone."

"Traitors," Ruff mumbled next to them, blinking and flaring her nostrils to her brother across the cafeteria in some code only they apparently understood.

As that passed, Astrid suddenly came to the realization that Henry had almost right off the bat. Dagur in town meant the Chief was in town. If the Chief was in town, that meant there would be a family dinner. If there was a family dinner….

_'Oh gods,'_ she realized, suddenly less excited by the prospective day. Gods only knew how much trouble they were in.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

A little finisher for the chapter before last before moving into the next day. And a little tension-resolution then back-to-tension-once-more between Astrid and Henry.

And I know, I know. High school drama. Let's face it, the cast is still technically in high school, so that means standard high school flare. Very... Tobey McGuire Spider-man now that I actually think about it. Oh, shit! That gives me _SOOOO_ many ideas! Muahahahah!

P.S. I'm a guy, so I have no idea what girls actually talk about. I'm also a nerd, so I _seriously_ have no idea what girls talk about. If you actually do know, I'm more than willing to be educated so I can at least make this chapter more realistic.

If you have any QCC's (Questions, Comments, Concerns; respectfully), let me know via Private Messaging or Review. Any and all questions pertaining to future chapters, characters, etc. is subject to the SPOILERS! clause 9 section 24b of Form B-36.

That being written, please indulge my curiosity and let me know what parts you guys liked, what parts need work, and overall what you guys think about it :D _Fury_ is more or less in a Rough Draft phase, so I'll be editing it every now and again to implement improvements.

Don't forget to Review, and I'll read ya guys next time with Fury - Chapter 5 _Dinner with the Family_ (unless something else happens, this is the one I'm going with).


	6. Chapter 5: Dinner with the Family

**A/N: **Hey guys! SteinMon here!

_**Trigger**_** Warnings: **Representations of knife-fighting; a healthy and _unhealthy _dose of family dysfunction; and some concept of military aquatic tactic.

I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I _am_ here to learn. That being said, I also respond to Reviews.

_**Review Responses:**_

\- Dragonholic: Nah. The cafeteria lunch menu hasn't been changed in over seventy-eight years, and that was only to add the sawdust to the bread. Their traditional like that.

\- Anonymous Noob the 2nd: All good questions. Unfortunately, I can only answer the last two without invoking the writ of SPOILERS! Henry won't be gaining super powers in any technical sense; the powers are all on the symbiote. No, I don't update once a week on Sunday. I update when I can since I'm working on three stories right now, and have no desire to rush any of them. I'm taking my time to ensure that they come out at least half decent.

\- vangian13: That was my original plan. However, that was based in a guestimate, and I underestimated the amount of information to cover that would continuously crop up as I was writing. I'm estimating (again) that they'll meet _within_ the next two chapters. Sorry if I got your hopes up prematurely, but hang in there.

\- Hate Eater: Well, technically it was his Thursday. There wasn't even the grace of weekend break to subtract to the monotony of his weekday life.

Neither have time for that, but it will be a growing process (hence the Slow-to-_Snail_ Burn... Hiccstrid? Ascup? Ass-cup? XD; because it's going to be some time before they even begin rebuilding their old friendship, much less build into a deeper relationship). But enough bridge burning has happened between the both of them, and _that_ will be covered at a later date.

\- "No Account": Well, for lack of a better catch-phrase, "Dinner is served". And by "dinner" I mean the chapter with the family dinner in it. ... ... ... oh, nevermind.

\- The Faithful Servant: I'm _hoping_ (keyword there) that it will be within the next two chapters after this one.

\- Septimus414: Thank you!

\- ActualNikolaTesla: Not to give anything away, but some relationships will deepen, other bonds will be forged (some good, many bad), and some will fray and wither. All of it will reveal itself with time.

\- "ALEXRYDER": I do plan on seeing this story through. Unfortunately, I can't post as often as I'd like as I am working on multiple stories; self-editing, revising, and proof-reading; and each story demands a certain amount of attention.

\- Andria Rainbolt: Will do!

\- ArthurShade: And here is the next chapter!

***End of Responses**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person.

I would also like to point out that I don't own any media that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story. Any topics or subjects (military and occupational) that come up are _not_ from a professional stand-point, but are written with as much knowledge I could garner through research, common sense, and from friends and acquaintances with experience in those matters. I may have also watched some YouTube :P

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

Chapter 5: Dinner with the Family

"So what are we going to do about it?" Astrid asked half-frantically, before jabbing him twice in the gut, grabbing his arm, and flipping him over her shoulder before he'd even had time to think about an answer.

Henry landed on the sports field grass with an exhale that sounded vaguely like a gasping fish, knocking the wind out of him. He recovered relatively quickly. After all, he was used to getting the wind knocked out of him. And why should training be any different today? He was already drenched in sweat from his supplementary training.

And definitely hurting.

He groaned as he looked up, Astrid half-consciously holding out a hand for him to grab. He wasn't sure what synapses in her brain caused it, but whenever Astrid was troubled, angry, or just flat out working through a tough problem, her combat abilities somehow soared. Gods, he'd sacrifice five or six of Misses Alderfelter's cats for that ability; he felt at least one of those every second of every day.

He accepted her hand up, almost getting yanked to his feet before he managed to steady himself again. He readjusted his grip on the dull dummy knife in his hand as he prepared to face today's up-close and personal nightmare: knife-fighting. If he could call what he was doing "fighting". The only "'knifing" he wanted to be doing was a tomato. Maybe an onion if he especially hating his life.

"How should I know?" he asked.

"Your smart…." She jabbed without even looking, forcing Henry to step back or get blunt-ended. "… I mean, surely you have a single solitary way not to aggravate your dad." She feigned a rush before high-kicking his knife out of his hand, and throwing hers into the center of his chest.

Henry just looked down as the knife plopped to the ground, only to cringe as his own smacked him atop the head. With a sharp breath, he opened his eyes with a frustrated series of blinks. "You're kidding right? We've been over this since I was twelve. Nothing I do will ever not aggravate my dad. My existence is the bane to his existence, and yet he insists that I join everyone for dinner. It's like he wants things to go sour."

He flicked her knife back to her, which she caught without even looking, still lost in thought as she was.

"Come on now. We _need_ something," she stated, tapping her knife to air in thought.

Henry attacked first, only for her hand to catch his and twist the knife loose. Before he could mutter "Uncle", she gave him three vital "stabs" _and_ "slit" his throat. With a frustrated sigh, he picked up his knife again. At least she wasn't full-on ramming his bruises.

"Anything short of my suddenly gaining an extra foot of height, fourty kilograms of muscle, five-times my current alcohol tolerance, and losing any life goal that falls short of whatever unmentioned plan he has for _my_ life will result in the same ending, Astrid."

She tackled him before he'd even turned around to face her, her dummy knife pressed pointedly against his throat. "Well _think_ of something Haddock! Because we are not having a repeat of last time!" she snapped, gently shoving him down before getting back up.

Smacking his forehead into the sod, he pushed himself back up, holding back a wince as he faced off again. "Well, I'm open to suggestions," he offered, leaving that out there.

"How about, you let mom do the cooking for a change," she suggested pointedly, going for a hard slash. "Your dad always frowns when that comes out."

Henry frowned as he stepped back. "Are you kidding?! There will be twelve people eating, and my dad and Gobber count for seven. There is no way I'm leaving all of that on your mom. So unless we're a few guests short….""

"Yeah-yeah, I get it!" she snapped. She stepped forward with a combo of two jabs and a slash, "Then, I don't know, try foot soldiering? Ground troop? Something other than a tech or engineering position."

"Anything short of a high commanding position is a waste of time in his eyes," he growled, palming away her jabs, parrying her slash, and pushing her a step back. "And guess what? No one would listen, even if I owned their asses. I'm not exactly held in high regard Astrid. Besides, I prefer a tech job, and I'll be on the ground anyway if I'm deployed. Someone has to keep your weapons clean."

She growled at being pushed back, going in hard. She fell low to sweep his legs before rolling over and smacking her knife pommel against his sternum. She stood up quickly, putting her hands on her hips while she waited for him to get up.

He just coughed out any expressed air that he'd managed to get back. "_Yep. On the ground_," he groaned, straining out, "Besides, you told me never to enter your med tent on a stretcher… or at all. And guess what? I took that under advisement."

She rolled her eyes. "Then what do we do Haddock? Because guess what, if you fuck this up again–"

"Yayaya," he blew off as he sat up. As he stood, he puffed his chest for his best Viking imitation. "_Meh allrready ailin' body willl sufferr thah Scourrge of Odin. The magnitude of thah gods currses shalll falll in abundance upon meh and alll meh descendants like thah rrain. An' ferr wha'? Because ey was a continuous disappointment to meh da', who can'' see past anythin' tha' doesn' llook, smelll, or sound llike a sterreotypicall Viking man_." He finished by flaring out his hands as though he expected applause.

Astrid didn't look amused, arms crossed and scowling, with a single raised eyebrow that asked if he was done. "Well, we can start by getting rid of the theatrics."

"I'm not even being theatrical around my dad, Astrid," he stated, switching his knife back and forth between his left and his right, before settling again with his dominant left. "And let's face it, he's the one who starts it."

"Then just try not being all of… _that_," she stated, giving a general sweep over with her hands of his whole body.

It was his turn to look unamused. "Pardon if I happen to be attached to… all of _this_," he countered, gesturing to all of himself in return. "I mean, I haven't almost shot anyone since I was… what… twelve. _You_ try living any of that down. My dad certainly won't let me. So there's no point in trying to get on his good side, because as far as my entire existence is concerned, he has no good side. He wouldn't approve of me unless he was looking at his mirror reflection. And…." For his demonstration in futility, he gestured to all of himself. It was a pointless and fruitless endeavor; he knew that.

He didn't even try to dodge when she threw her knife at him again, smack perfect in the middle as always. He flailed his arms in resignation.

"Let's face it Astrid," he stated, not even sure if she was listening anymore, "the best I can do is not take offence to every nitpicking remark or sound he makes toward my life choices, my entire future, the fact that I can't help my size, or that I prefer to use my head over my continuously abused body!" He inhaled deeply, letting a much calmer breath leave. "And let's hope that for once, the evening might end as only incredibly tense and uncomfortable instead of a downright disaster."

He was tackled again, letting out a painful wheeze as he landed. "You better." She let that threat hang as she pushed back up.

"Hofferson!"

Astrid stood at attention as Captain Hildr marched up to them, the burly woman snidely looking at Hiccup as he rolled over.

"Ma'am!" she answered back.

She took half-a-second longer before stating. "I was gonna ask you how yak heap was doing, but I have my answer."

Hiccup didn't bother to hide his eyeroll before heaving himself into a sitting position. "Said yak heap has ears you know. So Captain, about that case study? I've already started the dissertation and I'm serious, you'd make the perfect addition. Care to comment?"

Captain Hildr looked confused for a moment before it dawned on her what he was talking about. Cheeks turning red, she stood a little straighter. "Dismissed!"

Henry held back a snort as he gave her a lazy two-fingered salute.

"Thor damn it," Astrid muttered, glaring down at Henry. "Do you always goof off?!"

"Goof off? No. I generally overwhelm the underdeveloped synapses of whoever I'm speaking to through indifferent, intelligent, and crass conversation," he replied with his exact presentation. "It's my only defense mechanism against people who would rather bludgeon me into pulp with their physically-superior hands. That, and I find that small, but satisfactory, amount of victory it gives me is enough to keep me sustained on this thing called life."

"So… you're an ass because it feels good," Astrid stated, shaking her head in baffled wonder _how_ he wasn't dead yet. Maybe the gods just needed some entertainment now and then.

Henry gasped in disbelief, almost jumping to his feet if it weren't for his damned knee. "No! It can't be! I've been discovered!" Followed by a theatrical bow. "To spar wit with you Madame has been the utmost pleasure.

"Now you might as well add a few more bruises," he continued normally, switching roles flawlessly as he brandished his dummy knife, "otherwise Hildr will think you were going easy on me."

"You're almost as bad as the twins," she commented with a scoff, already sliding into an eased position.

"Hey!" Tuffs voice called.

"We resent that!" Ruff finished.

They turned to see the two of them hollering from across the field, over several of their squad in similar sparring teams.

"How–?" Astrid started.

"Just assume it has something to do with Loki, and it will be that much easier to accept," Henry offered, unfazed.

Shamelessly taking advantage of her lapse, he attacked–

Only to see the world spinning as he landed on his back again, with a knife pointed at his throat.

"Again Haddock," Astrid commanded as she looked over him. "And this time, with feeling."

"No problems there," he muttered, groaning as he shifted. "I'm doing a lot of _feeling_ right now."

_… … …_

_Early That Evening…_

"And how do I look?" Ingrid asked, twirling slightly at the foot of the stairs, showing off the blue blouse she was wearing for dinner.

Henry smiled his best from the couch, despite the impending storm they may – or may not – be heading for. "Misses Hofferson, you look a vision," he replied, just glad she looked so happy. "Completely worth the hour and half wait."

"Yeah. When we could have left an hour ago," Astrid snarked, more dressed down than her mother, as she kicked back, taking up the whole love-seat.

"Yeah, and you look it," Henry jabbed, earning him a very sore shoulder from the kick she sent.

"There will come a time, Astrid, where you'll spend an hour and half getting ready too," Ingrid stated pointedly, completely unfazed by her daughter's words as she walked into the kitchen. "Especially if it's for a boy you _really_ like. And if he's half the gentleman Henry is, then he'll damn well appreciate the wait too, since I know you don't put much stock in social events."

Astrid snorted. "As if."

"There's always Simon as an option," Henry offered, earning him another kick.

"Over my cold corpse," Ingrid called from the kitchen. "The Jorgensons can go… go… take a hike."

Astrid and Henry both looked at each other in confusion, before Henry spoke up. "You know we're not five anymore. You can cuss all you like."

"Oh? Very well." The series of profanities that flew from Ingrid Hofferson's mouth nearly knocked Henry over in surprise, and had Astrid sitting up straight in her seat. There was _a lot_ of colorful descriptions that painted a _very_ pretty picture of what Ingrid thought of the Jorgensons.

"You know, maybe "take a hike" was the simplest description," Henry stated in bafflement, comically looking like he was trying to process what he had heard, or even if he had heard it at all. He did however file some of those descriptive details away for later… just in-case.

"Yeah," Astrid agreed, her tongue smacking heavily in her mouth in distaste. There were some things you couldn't unhear; and some things that would haunt even Astrid's bravest dreams for at least a week. But she made sure to file some of those profanities away for later… just in-case.

Ingrid came back into the living room, carrying the food in hotboxes. "Henry, could you be a dear and take these."

Astrid practically shot up. "I'll help mom. Henry already took one for the team in training today."

"Thank you, Astrid," Ingrid said, distributing the hotboxes between them. "Alright, let my get my purse and coat, and off we go."

Astrid just rolled her eyes as her mom disappeared.

"Thanks."

She turned to look at him as he eased open the front door, bathing both of them in freezing air that was slightly dulled by their heavier coats. Given how cold it was, chances were, they'd be snowed in for Devastating Winter this year.

"Can't have you falling apart. I think the last thing you want is to miss any days of training if your arms give out." They stepped out, Henry's glasses half fogging as he breathed out billows of steam.

It was his turn to roll his eyes, but he was grateful none-the-less. They trekked a few feet away, opening the door to the garage, and stepping into a slightly less cold environment as they loaded up into Ingrid's 2007 Tankard Cruiser. Henry hopped into the back seat, keeping a hand on the food. And because there was more room to splay out comfortably. Astrid took the front seat. Within a couple minutes, Ingrid joined them, and away they went.

The drive to the Haddock Hall was a twenty-minute venture thanks to its location closer to the main suburbs of Berk. When Henry's father had actually lived on Berk, it had been for accessibility to the town and its residents. Now it was little more than an abode for his father's visits. More importantly in Henry's eyes, it was a home for Heather and Dagur as long as they'd want or need it.

Despite that, knocking on the front door to the Hall that technically bore his family name was a far easier experience for Henry than whatever was about to transpire. Gods, being on the moon without a suit right now sounded like a more survivable outcome than what he was walking into.

To his relief, Gobber was the one to answer the door. "Ah, if it isn't Henry and the Hofferson's," the old vet said with a toothy grin half peaking from underneath his mustache. "Come in, come in. Mind the shoes."

The house itself was a single building with the garage attached like many suburban homes, but otherwise, it was only a couple hundred square feet larger than the Hofferson's. There was a dining room separating the kitchen and the living room to name the first expansion. The second was the enormous Master Bedroom that had a habit of remaining empty for months, sometimes a year or two at a time.

Even as they stepped in, Henry could note the tension hanging in the air; something that was never present when he brought groceries for Heather on the weekends. The simplistic and genuine life she instilled in the place was gone, replaced by a stifling atmosphere that made it that much harder to breathe; and the place suffered for it. Right off the back, the sofa that had been in the living room was moved to the side, making room for a single solitary mountain of a chair to sit in front of the crackling hearth. A clear sign his father was home.

Depositing their shoes by the door, Henry and Astrid walked the hotboxes into the kitchen, past the enormous oak table in the dining room, still greeted by familiar and friendly faces for the time being.

Dagur was nursing a beer bottle as he helped Heather with prep work, and from what Henry could tell, it smelled delicious. "Now what do we have here?" he asked, setting his hotbox on an empty portion of the counter.

They smiled up at him nervously but didn't stop what they were doing. "Well, Gobber has steaks on the grill…."

"Ah, Thor. Forgot abou' tha'," Gobber said, lumbering past them with skipping _clunk _of a prosthetic toward the back porch to check on the grill.

"…Dagur is preparing the brussel sprouts and asparagus for the oven," she continued, before pausing dramatically. "And _I_ am making _Kjötsupa_."

Thanks to their geological position, the Archipelago often found itself to be a mixing pot of Icelandic, Norwegian, and Greenlandic culinary culture. Ergo: The Archipelago loved food as much as it loved physical training (hence the buff but tubby builds of most "Vikings"). Much of the food was adopted from traditional and simple meals, and allowed for something of a unique twist thanks to each island's own modifications. Though in Henry's opinion, some people could do with a little (a lot) less feeding.

Henry looked at the larger pot of lamb soup approvingly; the proportioning reflecting Henry's prior serving calculations: there wouldn't be much left overs. While not the way he would have done it, even Henry could admit that Heather was a proper cook in her own right. He'd coached her after all, but Heather had a more conventional approach, with a little pizzazz that Henry was proud to say she'd adopted from him. Besides, there was something… different, about the food when a woman cooked. Maybe love was an ingredient after all. And Heather certainly didn't spare any of it.

"Looks good," he said, careful not to drown in the smell that was drawing him closer. His insides already felt warmer. "I went for _Lapskaus_."

"Then it's a good thing I didn't make any," she teased, before looking rather reluctant. "I don't mean to ask, but–"

"I toned it down a lot," Henry answered for her, reaching out to pat Heather on the shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry."

"Still worried," she said with a weak smile that didn't reach her eyes.

Astrid came in with the other hotbox, setting it down in the next available spot. "Well, that's fair," she stated to Heather, making sure she gave Henry a pointed glower, "because _someone_ likes to show off."

"It helps if there's no one to show off for," Henry countered, rolling his eyes. He'd been toning down his cooking skills significantly the last few family dinners; mostly so it didn't out-shine Heather's contributions. The level of disappointment in both him and Heather his father had looked at them with was enough for the one time it had happened. Henry didn't know why. Maybe because his domestic skills far outweighed his combat skills. Either way, it had been a silent (and not-so-silent thanks to Astrid) agreement that he help Heather with her culinary skills, and he tone his down for the sake of the sequestered moment of peace that _they_ were doing all the work for.

Astrid just snorted back, before taking inventory for the setup. "Mom made a ton of mushroom casserole and several sweet-potato pies. And judging from all the food, you'll have leftovers for a couple days at least."

"If Gobber doesn't eat it all," Henry commented under his breath.

"Thanks Astrid," Heather said.

"Dag, whatcha doing there?" Henry asked, moving around the counters to the sink, sleeves rolled up as he washed his hands.

Dagur looked up from a swig of beer, looking somewhat fuzzled. "I'm halving… or, trying to halve the sprouts," he confessed, his knifework more suited for bodies than for veggies.

"I'll help." Henry grabbed a fresh knife, and another cutting board, and with a practiced twirl he got to work. As Henry cut through the sprouts rapidly, Dagur moved on to the next step, which was lightly glazing the asparagus and halved sprouts in cooking oil on the baking sheets, followed by a drizzle of salt and pepper. Simple, but effective.

"Anything I can do?" Astrid asked.

"_NO!_" all three of the guys said at once, Gobber having only just stepped in the door with a plate stack of steaming mouthwatering steaks. Each of their eyes was dotted with terror. "Thanks Astrid, but we got it," Heather amended giving a stern glare to each of them, despite the disappointed scowl that Astrid had adopted.

"Come on sweetie," Ingrid stepped in, walking into the kitchen straight for the hotboxes. "We can set the table." Astrid huffed, reaching into one of the hotboxes and pulling out a large crock before heading back into the dining room.

A silent collective sigh of relief breathed from those who were left in the kitchen before they dared continue. It was short work, left only to time and the oven once they all had finished. With the table set, it wouldn't be long now–

The house instantly felt the chill as the front door opened, causing tension to amass into those present.

"Ah, Stoick," Gobber greeted, unaffected by the change in atmosphere. "I trust you're business for tha day is settled."

"As welll as can be expected," was the gruff answer. "Alll the same, it's good ta be home."

Astrid quickly pinched Henry's ear while there was still time. "Best behavior," she hissed under her breath.

Before he could retort, she had let go, just as Stoick entered the room. To say he was any less of an imposing man dressed down in the XXXXL dinner suit he wore, would be a falsehood to say the least.

"Stoick," Ingrid greeted softly, already moving to hug her old friend. They broke after a few moments, friendly smiles lighting up their faces. "You're just in time. Dinner's ready so go ahead and take a seat."

Whatever smile hid under the Chief's bushy beard faded into it's natural stern as he was met with the rest of them. Or more specifically, when his eyes crossed his son's. Without a word, Stoick moved to the large chair that graced the head of the table, seating himself before anyone else did so. As head of the household, some traditions were upheld. Ingrid seated herself at the opposite end, while Dagur sat at his right, and Gobber at his left. Astrid sat next to her mother, while Heather sat between her and Gobber. Henry took the spot next to Dagur, leaving a single empty chair to his right.

Ritualistically, everyone bowed their heads reverently, waiting on the head of the house.

"Gods blless the food and ourr days ta come," Stoick said softly, lifting his head to everyone else. "Allrright, dig in." And with that, the games began.

The _clink_ and _tink_ of serving utensils and silverware was the only sound that could be heard for the time being, but it might as well have been the _tick_ing of a clock bomb. Henry was half ready to bolt for the nearest safe haven he could find as everyone quietly served up; and like himself, they were anticipating what would follow.

"Thank you forr the food," Stoick stated, turning toward Ingrid and Heather gratefully. "It llooks dellicious."

It could have ended there, and they'd be done with it, but…. "I can't take all the credit," Ingrid said, smiling appreciatively. "Henry helped with a lot of it."

_'ShitFuckDamnit!'_ Henry thought, visibly flinching. How the adults seemed to be unaffected by whatever was in the air was anyone's guess. Maybe years around his father had granted them a heavy resistance to his aura.

"Ah." The tone suggested that the Chief was processing unwanted input, but it somehow conveyed an entire speech. Never let it be said that Henry understood what went through his father's head as he mulled on Henry's contribution. He'd concluded a long time ago that the only similarities he and his father shared were located in some deep, dark crevice of his genetics.

Before he could make a sarcastic remark to his father's heavy wording, a swift kick moved under the table, nailing Henry right in the shin. His nostrils flared sharply as he stifled a groan in his throat. Gods! That hurt! His gaze immediately fell on Astrid, looking completely fixated with eating her meal, and yet so subtly looking at him. She gave an almost incomprehensible jerk of her head, gesturing to her side.

Henry followed her line of suggestion, already knowing what he'd find. Heather was eating her meal same as everyone else, save for the evident tremble in her hand. Even at his side, he could feel Dagur's concern and unease.

Sighing silently, Henry gave a subtle nod to let Astrid know he'd gotten the message loud and clear, before focusing on his food. He consumed his bowl of _Kjötsupa_ to keep his mind off anything else; the taste helped drown everything else out. It would have tasted better without the invisible sword hanging over his head, but little things counted right now.

"I got an interrestin' reporrt today," Stoick stated, cutting into his steak with the same thick consistency as the tension-condensed the air. Everyone knew who was being addressed, but Henry was praying to any god that would listen that it wasn't him. Hel, he was even debating shooting a prayer to Loki. But per the gods' usual intervention, they ignored him.

"Yourr physicalls haven't imprroved since llast yearr."

Henry went ahead and mentally swore, being sure to borrow some of Ingrid's own colorful vocabulary. But if he was willing to be honest with himself, he'd been expecting it. Of course his physicals hadn't improved! His body was in a constant state of tear, and the high intensity workouts he was forced to endure never allowed time to recover save for the weekends. In fact, he was surprised he hadn't broken down crippled with the number of times he'd lost feeling in his limbs. But there was nothing he could say. Any explanation would be taken as excuses, and no "Sorry, dad" would be good enough; it hadn't been four years ago, and it wouldn't be now.

But silence wasn't an option either. _'Ugh, the gods hate me.'_

"Is that so?" Henry asked, deciding indifferent ambiguity was the best course of action. "I didn't notice." It was the truth. Outside of Hildr's string of put-down's and slanders, he didn't have time to notice if he was getting better; he was too sore most days to care.

"What's yourr CO's method?" Stoick asked, ignoring Henry and turning pointedly to Astrid.

Henry didn't envy her right then. She looked completely conflicted, pulled between duty and relationship. It was his turn to (lightly) kick her underneath the table. No need for both of them to fall under his father's scrutiny. Henry preferred the Atlasian method of bearing that weight by himself.

Her back straightened as she finished chewing, swallowed, and wiped her mouth. "Captain Hildr has Henry in her supplementary classes before our daily training sessions," she informed stiffly. "Henry is set up for training by the time I am rallying my squad, so I am uninformed to his CO's methods for training him."

Stoick nodded at her explanation. "And his prrogrress in yourr squad?"

Henry swallowed heavily. He knew exactly what his progress entailed, and he knew that Astrid wasn't one for mincing words.

"Insubordinate, opinionated, questions orders, is subject to discord between squadmates, and possesses the lowest close-combat record I've seen to-date."

_'__Thank you, Astrid, for summing that up,'_ he thought, mentally preparing for the _long_ lecture that was bound to come his way.

"_But_," she continued, "Private Haddock is the first to volunteer for scouting scenarios, has shown the ability to make decisive decisions under fire, and authentically considers the risk assessments involved in true combat during exercises. In addition, he has shown above average precision in marksmanship, obeys orders regardless of his current physical state, has the ability to direct the Thorston twins, along with physical and mental resilience when faced with outnumbering opposition. Those qualities are just in combat, sir."

Holy shit! Henry wouldn't say he was prone to staring often, but he couldn't take his eyes off Astrid right now. He couldn't remember the last time someone had said something so… genuinely touching. Granted, this was from Astrid in the form of an assessment to her Commanding Officer and Chief. But Henry would be lying if he said he didn't feel something like appreciation toward her.

Gods, if she didn't act like bitch most of the time, he might absently consider kissing her right there. Of course, that thought caused Henry to shudder. Nope! No! Never happening! He'd rather lose his left leg.

Stoick's face was passive. Completely devoid, save for the attentive glimmer as he took measure of Astrid's words. "Arre you telllin' me tha' the rreporrt I rreceived is wrrong?"

Gods. Could the air hold its own breath?

"No sir," she stated respectfully, "merely subject to perception. As his squad leader, it's my job to understand his strengths and weaknesses firsthand. A CO doesn't always have that opportunity with so many under their command."

Henry didn't have to look to see the tension fall from Heather's shoulders. And he couldn't blame her. Even after that display of self-exemplary, Henry couldn't quite smother his appreciation of Astrid as he took a particularly hearty mouthful of lamb and vegetables from his soup. She was strong; that much was certain. Dedicated. Loyal. And she certainly had a way with words. She was everything his father could want in a daughter if he'd had one. And Henry knew enough to know his father would have preferred she were his child. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to deduce that. And that was all well and good. He'd trade parents with her in a heartbeat if he thought she could handle the constant neglect and pressure.

"Tha' doesn'' excuse insuborrdination or the questionin' of orrderrs," Stoick stated, and just like that, any hope for a normal dinner Henry had were dashed. "Thank you forr yourr answerr, Astrrid." He didn't miss a step turning back to Henry. "Starrting next week, you'lll be taking morre suppllementarry courrses."

"And how is that supposed to help?" Henry asked, breaking the imposed silence that he _wasn't_ supposed to be breaking. "The ones I'm taking now certainly aren't helping."

The cold stare he received wasn't enough to cow him, but it was enough to cause a sharp inhale from across the table, as well as earn him another sharp kick to the shin. He frowned, still not put off his questioning, even if he knew there was a chance for this to escalate into a stubborn shouting match between two boar-headed and stubborn men.

"Llet's starrt with rrespect forr authorrity," Stoick stated sharply, still holding Henry's gaze sternly. "Somethin' you stilll cllearrlly llack. In rreall combat, you woulld be the weakest llink in the chain-of-command. Until you learn to obey yourr orrderrs, you'lll onlly get someone killled."

Henry felt a thousand and one retorts rising to his throat. A thousand and one reasons to fight back rose with it. What did _he_ know? Worse, he wouldn't care if he did. It didn't matter what Henry did, he'd never be anything more than a failure in his father's eyes. And that's why he didn't vie for his father's approval anymore; because he'd realized the futility of the attempt. Nothing he did would ever amount to anything to his father's standards; locked in some untold bias that even Henry didn't fully understand. But he acted like he had control over his life, and if there was one thing Henry hated, it was someone trying to steer _his _life; to mold him into something he wasn't.

The dulled pain in his arms died as his hands white knuckled around his spoon with coursing adrenaline. The hair on the back of his neck prickled with uneased irritation, his jaw set in anger as his teeth grit, his tongue coiling in preparation to rebuke everything his father thought of him. Before he could however, he felt a stern hand grab his forearm, holding him down. His head whipped angrily to his side to see Dagur staring hard into his own eyes, begging as he slightly shook his head.

Henry may have had a thousand and one reasons to fight back, but he only needed one _very_ good reason to pull away. He didn't want to put Dagur and Heather through a recreation of the same thing they had run from, even if many of the more violent aspects were missing. Taking a deep breath, he returned his father's look with absolute disdain.

"If that's what it takes, _Chief_," he stated bitingly. He didn't know who was more surprised by his words, everyone else, or Stoick, but he didn't wait long enough to find out as he returned coldly to his meal.

Once his order was taken unrebuked, only then did Stoick returned back to the Viking-sized servings on his plate, not bothering to look at the subject of his conversation again for the remainder of the night. As if that was a punishment. Hel, it was bloody Valhalla to be ignored.

"Well… tha' was awkward." Gobber's voice was like flip-switch, suddenly flooding animation back into a frozen situation. Utensils suddenly worked again as they proceeded back to the food they were designed for.

The tension never left Henry's neck and shoulder's though. Normally about this time, he would be halfway to his favorite bar to drink away his anger. Like a proper Viking! No. Wait. A proper Viking would beat the shit out of the object of his ire. He couldn't even do _that_ properly! But who knew? The night was still young, and the first moment he got to himself, Henry was leaving. He didn't care how cold it was out, the sooner he could leave behind this farce, the sooner he could find something that actually mattered in his life.

But this had been the final straw. There was no more pretending after this now that he had held himself back for once. He couldn't take the smothering or the pretending anymore, even for Heather and Dagur's sake. He was done being the scapegoat and being controlled; and he was certainly done pretending that he was happy with this arrangement. Whatever _this_ was. His father didn't understand what he went through, nor did he care to; not that he actually had a say given his near-complete absence from Henry's life. But despite his father's unreasonable expectations, and continuously throwing his son in the line of fire, no one argued against him.

For once, Simon's words finally rooted in Henry's mind. He was alone.

Against his better judgement, a small rebellious smolder of ash lit the back of his mind, glowing to life for no other reason than out of spite. It was the first sign of life Henry had felt in years. Because despite years of looking on the bright side, Henry was done.

_He_ was done.

_… … …_

_After dinner…_

"Ya were too hard on 'im, Stoick," Gobber stated from the table. Henry disappeared within a half-hour of dinner ending, staying only long enough to do the dishes, much to Stoicks disapproval. And no one was expecting otherwise. No one, except Stoick it seemed.

The only ones who remained at this time were Stoick, Gobber, and Ingrid. Henry was in the wind, unsurprisingly. Heather and Astrid had retired to the former's room after excusing themselves. Dagur had gone after Henry, apparently aware of where he might go, where no one else had so much as a clue.

"'E needs to llearrn Garrreth," Stoick stated, sipping on an ale as his stare hardened against the oak dining table. "If 'e can'' folllow orrderrs–"

"Hang the orders! Yur lucky I didn'' smack ya right then and there! The only reason I didn'' is because I respect yur authority, even if I don'' agree with it," Gobber protested, his mechanical hand slapping the table hard, earning a scowl of disapproval from his long-time friend. "We're talkin' 'bout a lad who's taken more flak and disposition than you know! I can'' even pat 'im on the back without flarin' up some sore or other he's gotten from those "supplementary" courses yur so fond of. Hildr pushes 'im to brink and then some! He can barely walk some days, much less lift anythin', bu' 'e never complains.

"And now, yur signin' 'im up for more." Gobber shook his head as his mechanical hand gripped tightly around a mug of his own. Pushing his mustache out of the way as he took a big gulp. "'E's pushin' his limits as is, Stoick. All yur doin' is breakin' 'im down for no Thor-damned reason. Ya might as well push 'im off of Odin's Fist for all the help yur actually doin'."

"What Gary _means_ to say is," Ingrid stated sharply, sitting across from Gobber next to Stoick, "you're going about it wrong. Henry isn't you Stoick."

Stoick took a deep, long breath. "Do you know what my fatherr 'ad me do when I was a youngin?"

Borkleif and Hofferson looked at each other pointedly, having heard this speech a thousand times. They knew it by heart, and they weren't above mockingly reciting it, even in their adult age.

"My fatherr orrderred me to bang my head against a rrock," Stoick started, unaware that half- brother and sister were mouthing along flawlessly. "I thought it was crrazy, but I obeyed. I didn't deviate, I didn't question my orrderrs. Do you know wha' happened?"

"Yeh got a headache," Gobber stated blandly, having been privy to Stoick's complaints when they were younger. He took a long swig to dull the throbbing in his head this conversation was giving him.

"You needed a block of ice," Ingrid replied indifferently, having been the one to give him said ice block to reduce the bruising and swelling.

"That rrock spllit in two," Stoick continued, as if they hadn't answered in the first place. "It taught me what a man could do when pushed. He could crrush mountains. Llevell forrests! Tame seas! Even as a boy, I knew what I was, what I had to become. Alll I llearrned, I llearrned the Viking way."

"But Henry's not tha' boy," Gobber stated simply. "A mountain is in 'is way, 'e walks around it. The forest is too thick, 'e finds a path through it. The sea is too rough, 'e waits it out. It's just 'ow 'e is."

Stoick looked about ready to protest, only for Ingrid to speak up. "Stoick, from the time he could crawl Henry's been… different. Special, even. All he's wanted to do is help people. That's been his motivation. Do you know what he wants to be when he leaves the service?"

"A blloody domestic by the llooks of things." Stoick shook his head, not seeing what this had to do with anything. It was bad enough the lad was thinking of leaving the service in the first place. But what could he possibly want to do that was more important than serving his island and the Archipelago?

"He wants to be an oncologist, Stoick," Ingrid answered, looking at him sadly before turning to her own mug. "The only question is, how much does he blame himself?"

The air only grew thicker as a strange melancholy settled on the room, Stoick opening and closing his mouth several times before nothing decided came out.

"The point is, Stoick," Gobber picked back up, much more somber now. "Ya can't stop 'im, and if I'm bein' honest, ya shouldn't try. You'll only push 'im further away; not that ya wouldn't have sail all seven seas ta bridge tha' gap anyway. We know ya want 'im prepared for the service, but he's not one to blindly follow orders, and let's face it, 'e's not gonna bulk up if 'e 'asn't by now. But he's smart. And whether or not yeh like it, 'e's gonna find a way to contribute on 'is terms, not yurs."

"The fact is, he recognizes his own strengths. And his weaknesses," Ingrid said, looking at Stoick hopefully. "He's putting himself in a place where his strengths are most useful. I think it's time that _you _recognize that he isn't a boy anymore, Stoick. He's a young man." She paused for a second, before whispering, "In these matters, I think we can all agree that he takes after his mother."

Any protest he felt died at the mention of his wife. For once, Stoick had no argument. The sheer cruelty of the world was not lost on him, and those that weren't strong enough were swept aside. He fiddled with the band on his finger, knowing all too well that some decisions couldn't be unmade, and knowing deeper still that some were never an option.

"You missed the majority of his life, Stoick," Ingrid stated kindly. "All his firsts. And I understand how busy you were, and how painful it was. But trying to influence his life now won't change the outcome he's determined. It will only put you further at odds, and I don't think that's what Val would have wanted between her husband and son."

Even begrudgingly, Stoick nodded to their point. They knew his son better than he did. Which… prompted an idea. "I won't rrescind what I said to him," he stated, remaining firm. "A Chief has to stick by his decision."

Gobber and Ingrid internally groaned. Stubbornness was a Haddock trait that came in spades. And it was genetic, so there was no escaping it in either father or son.

"But… woulld you be ablle to trrain 'im?" Stoick asked, turning to Gobber.

The man in question stuck a fleshy pinky in his ear, wiggling it back and forth before tilting it toward Stoick. "I'm sorry, I didn'' quite catch tha'. I thought ya just asked meh to train 'im."

"I did," Stoick stated firmly. "I can't take back what I said, but that doesn't mean I can't make it advantageous. You know 'im, which means you'lll know how to trrain with him. Willl you do it?"

Garreth "Gary" (Gobber) Borkleif looked all the graver as he frowned at Stoick's request. "Aye, I'll give it a whirl. I haven'' trained anyone proper in over a decade, but we'll see. But be as that may, ya wouldn't be askin' me ta be trainin' anyone unless ya was concerned with somethin'. Does it 'ave anythin' ta do with why yur back on the island?"

Ingrid mirrored her brother as she looked at Stoick, also silently asking for his reasoning. While she didn't have an opposition to her brother training Henry, she also knew that Garreth wasn't going to fit Henry into any category. He'd focus on the strengths, as well as the weaknesses; finding a shape that Henry was naturally inclined to. But there was no telling what that shape might actually be; and now Garreth was going to be the one to bring it out. Still, there was something unsettling about Stoick's request; like he was asking Gobber to fulfill his duties as Godfather to the fullest under the guise of training.

Stoick just shook his head. "It's cllassified. Unforrtunatelly, I can't sharre the detaills. Onlly that it is serrious."

Gobber nodded in understanding, followed slowly by Ingrid. Both knew the lifestyle, and both knew that some things were above their paygrades. On an instinctual level, the soldiers in them knew not to dig further after it. It would be on a need-to-know basis. And it was safe to say that both of them hoped that wouldn't need to know.

_… … …_

_Upstairs, in Heather's Room…_

"Well… that was a close call, huh?" Astrid stated, fully prepared to kill Haddock the next time she saw him. Okay, maybe lightly maim. Bordering on assault maybe? If she got the chance to ice those newer bruises of his, she was adding a few more just for good measure after the stunt he pulled.

She sputtered in relief as she sank into the computer chair at Heather's desk. The room was cozy enough. Immaculately cleaned and organized. Too clean for Astrid's taste. And much too girly (hint: there was _some_ pink involved); complete with a large mirror on the dresser. Although, where some girls had posters and stickers of dolphins or horses or fairies or unicorns, Heather had killer whales plastering her walls; complete with an Astrid seal-of-approval.

Heather only nodded to Astrid as she sat on her bed, curling up around and hugging a large stuffed dragon she snatched from the head of her bed as she pulled her knees to her chest. She rested her chin on its head, breathing deeply as the stuffed animal brought her some much-needed comfort.

"Are you doing okay?" Astrid asked, knowing that things weren't "okay". Things had almost escalated into a shouting match. Again. "Almost" being the keyword, but it was still far too close for comfort. While Astrid was never opposed to a good row, she knew Heather began to compulsively tremble whenever a heated argument brewed. Or more accurately, when it brewed in the house; fights at school had never been an issue. The last family dinner, Henry had stormed out of the house, and Astrid had spent the better portion of the evening rocking a crying Heather to sleep after a particularly nasty verbal onslaught between the Haddock men. She never talked about it, but Astrid could make a few guesses as to why that was.

"Yeah," Heather answered, sniffing lightly now that she was comfortable and secure in a place, and with a person, she felt safe with. She inhaled deeply through the nose, and out slowly through the mouth. She'd spent enough time in practice to settle her nerves within moments. "It was just… really tense. I thought they were gonna fight again."

"Yeah, they get like that," Astrid replied frustratedly. "The both of them couldn't see eye-to-eye even if you gave Henry a stool to stand on." She scoffed. "Haddocks. Boar-headed, the both of them." Of that, she could agree with Henry: the end result of family dinners always swayed towards a fight that almost became ritual. At least they'd avoided this last one, even if it was by the skin of their teeth.

"It's none of my business, but don't you think it's a little unfair?" Heather asked, whether she expected an answer or not was unknown. "I mean, Henry works hard. It just seems like the Chief is pushing the world on him. I get his physicals aren't the best, but there's more to offer after his service is over. He could do… basically anything he wanted. He's smart."

Astrid felt conflicted as usual. On one hand, yeah it was unfair to heap all that expectation on him. On the other, the expectation came with the office. If they were deployed, then Henry needed to be in top physical condition. She knew that. He knew that, even if he wouldn't admit it. All the same, she'd seen some of those bruises. Hel, she'd treated most of them. She knew how damaged some of his muscles were, never having time to reform after tearing. Day-in, day-out, pushing past the point of exhaustion. He was stubborn, she'd give him that; even if he was a complete ass sometimes.

"You're right, it is none of our business," Astrid admitted. "How the Chief decides to handle his son is up to him." _'And vice-versa,'_ she added in afterthought.

"But what if he– he could–" The worry and fear on Heather's face was evident. Reminiscent of her own experiences that poked through her normally calm exterior as her breathing began to accelerate in a panic.

"Stoick isn't your dad, Heather," Astrid cut her off, quickly ending it before Heather began to hyperventilate. All the same, Astrid hoped she didn't snap. The last thing she wanted was for Heather to feel attacked or secluded, especially by a close friend. But as her close friend, that meant talking to her straight, even if she wouldn't like hearing it. "And Henry has a lot of people to help him suck it up. Including you and Dagur. But we both know it won't escalate to _that_."

Heather nodded reluctantly, still looking uncomfortable with transpired events. But her breath was slowing as she took measured breaths once again. That was good. "I just wish I knew how to help."

_'__Bless you and your sweet heart,'_ Astrid thought with a sympathy she rarely used with anyone else.

Astrid looked at her, concern still rolling off the blonde. "Have you had a chance to talk to Dagur yet?"

Heather shook her head. "Not really. He wants to talk, but I don't think he's allowed to. There's something weighing on him, and he just feels… unsure. He's got this look in his eye… like he saw something he can't explain. He wants it off his chest, but I guess roaming around with the Chief means he's privy to some black-book secrets.

"I just wish he could tell me about it."

_'You and me both,'_ Astrid thought, still somewhat sore that Dagur could dangle a very juicy military-grade carrot over her head.

"You got all that from just by looking at him, huh?"

Heather gave a small smile. "I am my brother's keeper."

Astrid guessed that made her Heather's keeper then, not that she minded. In a way, they were as close as family could be; like they couldn't help but love and dislike each other simultaneously. All four of them: her, Heather, Dagur, and, as loathed as she was to admit it, Henry was a part of it. They were as dysfunctional as they came, but that's how all families were, even the ones you chose (in some cases begrudgingly). It was an unspoken agreement between her and the redheaded soldier; he'd deal with Henry, she'd comfort Heather. They were the guardians and protectors of their little troupe; and as much as they both cared for Heather, Dagur was the only one of the two who knew how to talk to a hot-headed Henry. _Especially_ after family dinners. Astrid was more liable to club him over the head than successfully talk to him.

With a small "_hup_" as she hopped up from the computer chair, Astrid scooched Heather over, plopping down on the bed next to her. "When Dagur's ready… or allowed to… I'm sure he'll talk about it." She rested a supportive hand on Heather's shoulder, prompting the girl to look up from her dragon's all-encompassing hug. "He'd move the world for you. You know that right?"

Heather nodded reluctantly. "I know. But whenever he's here, he just feels more distant." She sighed, resting her chin back on her stuffed dragon. "I don't want to be needy, or a bother, but I just feel like he'd rather spend time with Henry. They just get along so well."

Astrid gave a sympathetic nod. "They could beat the shit out of each other and still bond over mead and bad karaoke. No harm, no foul. I'm pretty sure it's a guy thing. I can talk to him if you like."

"No," Heather rejected with a small headshake. "It's fine. I'll get over it."

But Astrid knew differently, especially as the young woman held her dragon closer. It wasn't "fine". Because sometimes the gift from her brother was the closest-second she could feel to him.

_… … …_

_Mjolnir's Bay, on the Far Side of Berk…_

The rippling ocean waters washed ashore, the lapping singing gentle crashes that rolled up over the smooth pebble beaches before sinking back down as the stones _clack_ed against each other softly.

All else was silent save the waves. The gulls had long since taken refuge against the night in their nests, and the air was too cold to sanction the songs of insects. Only the sudden gathering of a storm overhead provided a change to the blank ambiance that echoed the ringing of silence, the clouds leaving the scape moonless and starless to any creature that thrived in the light.

The waves rolled forward again, dark masses slowly rising from their shallows. A red beam shot from the one of them, crossing across the beach slowly before fading.

"Anything on thermals?" sounded just below a whisper.

"Negative."

"Alright. Move up," one shadow motioned forward, no less observant of their surroundings.

The shadows grew larger as they exited the waves, the _crunch_ of the pebbles underfoot piercing the silence. There were six in all, each of them blending seamlessly into the dark as they stalked for the tree-line. The moment they were under the cover of branches, they held fast, dismounting the weighted waterproof packs from their backs as preparations went underway.

One shadow dialed into their long-distance communications, quickly detaching the rebreather feature from his mask, and shedding the wetsuit he wore for the full-body stealth suit underneath, quietly drawing out more appropriate gear for a terrestrial-based operation from his pack.

"Crag-Deep, this is Skull-Crusher Leader. We've landed," he reported, clipping on his tactical vest before pulling the belts secure.

_"__Pinging target coordinates now Skull-Crusher Leader. Will update regularly. Unless contacted, maintain radio silence. Over?"_

"Over," he affirmed, mapping already uploading into his helmets HUD. He was already prepped, grabbing his belt of gas canisters and assembling his assault rifle last.

_"__Good luck, lads; and happy hunting."_

Once Crag-Deep had cut out, Skull-Crusher Leader checked the HUD, aligning the island with the landmarks they'd been made to study. The target was moving swiftly along the recorded roadlines, most likely in a vehicle, toward a less inhabited portion of Berk. Perfect. The only landmark in that area was a pub. Huh? Curious.

Well no matter. The mission was capture, retrieve, and retreat. In and out. Neutralize any threats to the mission, but leave no trace. Period.

"Alright. Move out," the Leader commanded, knowing that his men were already prepared to march on his orders. And with that, they slipped quietly into the Berkian wood, prepared to return home victorious, or not at all. Returning empty-handed would only get them killed.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This chapter was a little jumpy, but there was a lot to prep for the next couple chapters. Hope you guys enjoy! :)

If you have any QCC's (Questions, Comments, Concerns; respectfully), let me know via Private Messaging or Review. Any and all questions pertaining to future chapters, characters, etc. is subject to the SPOILERS! clause 9 section 24b of Form B-36.

That being written, please indulge my curiosity and let me know what parts you guys liked, what parts need work, and overall what you guys think about it :D _Fury_ is more or less in a Rough Draft phase, so I'll be editing it every now and again to implement improvements.

Don't forget to Review, and I'll read ya guys next time with Fury - Chapter 6 _Raven Point_


	7. Chapter 6: A Night at Raven's Point

**A/N: **Hey guys! SteinMon here!

_**Trigger**_** Warnings: **Alcohol, drinking, and drunken thoughts. Includes military regard to mission objectives as well.

I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I _am_ here to learn. That being said, I also respond to Reviews.

_**Review Responses:**_

\- Anonymous Noob the 2nd: I thought I'd hinted at it enough... hmmm? Well, I explained it in a lot more depth in this chapter.

As far as anyone else getting "dragons"... we'll see. I haven't thought that far ahead yet.

\- "No Account": Thank you! :D That will come up a little more in the next chapter, as this one progressed a little more disjointedly than I would have liked, but it added to the all-round semblance of it coming together.

\- Dragonholic: :D

\- Andria Rainbolt: Here's another chapter. Don't go reading it all at once... Or do... Either way.

\- Purpleflame2: I'd say so, yes.

\- "Eris": Here ya go!

***End of Responses**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person. Also, the song I used in this one isn't specified so, I'm adding it up here. It's _Citizen Soldiers "Weight of the World"_, I recommend giving it a listen or two just for that moment.

I would also like to point out that I don't own any media that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story. Any topics or subjects (military and occupational) that come up are _not_ from a professional stand-point, but are written with as much knowledge I could garner through research, common sense, and from friends and acquaintances with experience in those matters. I may have also watched some YouTube :P

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

Chapter 6: A Night at Raven's Point

_'__Fuck Berk! And fuck its freezing cold night air!'_ Henry shouted mentally as he huddled to himself. Bu-ut, every time he thought about the nice warm house that happened to have his father under the roof…

_'__I am the cold, I am the night,'_ he chattered/chanted affirmingly, stuffing his hands into his armpits. _'I am the cold, I am the night….'_ Metabolism counted for nothing when it was below zero Celsius ; freezing was freezing, no matter who you were. He was just glad he'd thought to bring an extra layer, though now he wished he'd brought an extra pair of socks. Nice warm socks.

He trudged on, the breath of Skadi herself chapping at his face suddenly. _'And fuck the negative two-degree windshear!'_ The only bright side was, there was no snow to make his trek more miserable; he wasn't dressed for it.

Gods only knew how long it had taken him to walk this far, but he saw a light in the distance. Was that a -?

"Oh!" he quivered happily, "Thank Odin."

Up ahead was a three-story building, virtually in the middle of nowhere. No other residences were seen for at least a mile, and there were no other businesses for just as far. It was isolated and surrounded by forests on every side, but well-visited enough to require a top-notch concrete roadway to reach it.

The wind-swung pub sign was as welcome a sight as ever; the depicted twin ravens expertly etched with the hands of some master craftsman, with the almost mystically carved wording, giving precedence to its name: Ravens Point.

That, and it happened to be sitting on an ancient landmark that translated to much the same name. Eh. Why didn't they change it? Because Vikings were lazy when it came to naming stuff.

That, and it was a pretty cool name.

The parking lot had only a couple trucks parked in the front. On a normal night, the whole lot would be packed. Which meant Henry could nestle in a nice, warm corner with little to no interruptions; and certainly without the over cantankerous boisterings of drunk Vikings. And as a bonus, it meant no bar brawls.

His will rekindled at the thought of warmth solitude, his footsteps became a little louder as he pushed a little harder toward the doors.

Still shivering, he reveled in how warm he already felt by the time he stood in front of the establishment. The "Wipe Yur Damn Feet" welcome mat greeted him in front of the single entry-exit door, and Henry obliged it, finishing his boot cleaning with a couple half-numb stomps.

A small bell rang as he pushed open the sturdy door, before closing it behind him. Already, he felt stuffed and warm in his heavy coat, standing in the large greeting room. Over the entry beam to the main dining room, a number of Norse runes were burnt into the wood. Following the unspoken tradition, Henry reached up, brushing some of them.

_'__The unwritten rune, for Odin, Allfather and god of travelers. The _Tiwaz_, for Tyr, god of justice. And the _Pertho_, for Frigg, goddess of hearth and homes.'_ Once he'd brushed the unworn runes, he glanced with at the shared rune of Thor and Magni, _Thurisaz_, worn clear through the burnt portion of the wood until it was almost nothing but a divot. It was a shame to see so many gods uninvoked. That just showed how impassible Vikings were. Strength was everything. As if to make up for it a little, he established his gods of choice again before stepping into the dining hall.

The bar counter to the right took up a decent section of wall, the back counters and shelves lined with a supreme assortment of booze and binges that would make a grown Viking cry thinking he'd died and gone to Valhalla. Whiskeys, beers, ciders, meads, rums, gins, and vodkas of all kinds; all for clearing the mind, inhibitions, and occasionally the stomach. With those came any number of chasers and juices, though they were rarely used, as "real" Vikings took their liquor unaltered and undiluted.

The rest of the room was setup with any assortment of seating arrangement that could cram a bunch of large, smelly people into a single dining space. Henry assumed it was to win a world record of some sort but didn't put too much thought into it considering just _how _packed it _could_ get in there. Every chair and table was made of pressed solid oak to prevent their destruction, not for lack of patrons trying; each with nicks, scratches, and stains that could tell a veryinteresting story. On the far wall from the entrance was a roaring fireplace; warm and cozy, but with a flare for the traditional that Vikings were so fond of. The policy was if you wanted a warm seat: first-come, first-served.

The room to the right used to be a game room, complete with pool and darts… bu-ut after a few fights that had broken out and the number of weapons that came out of that room, it had been discontinued. Thank gods. Now it was more of a run-off room, and sometimes used for parties and reservations.

"Ah, Master Henry, what brings you to my fine establishment today?"

Henry smiled as he walked up to the bar counter, picking a more reserved stool near the corner end. "Just "Henry" Johann, please," he stated kindly, before answering. "Just another long day, with its fair share of trials and tribulations."

Johann was a decent fellow in Henry's book. About his own height with dark brown and grey streaked hair tied back, and a well-groomed and knotted mustache and beard, he was easily one of the more approachable people on the island. He was always dressed in a rolled-sleeve dress shirt and his dark bar apron. His personality was warm, if not mostly professional and business-oriented; as well as knowledgeable and well-travelled. If nothing else, he was an avid storyteller and could regale countless tales of his travels, his countless exploits and adventures, the places he'd seen, and even juggled it up with a little with foreign folk-stories. Plus, he mixed a wicked Saving Grace for the morning drinkers.

He was easily one of the wealthiest men in the Archipelago, and not just for the endless supply of drinks and the customers to drink them. He was also the owner of a supplier and transport company that shipped raw materials and wholesome goods between islands and overseas. If Henry had to guess, the pub was maintained solely on a fraction of the profits from his company; more of a full-time hobby than anything else.

Still, he treated Henry right and respectfully, so he couldn't complain about whatever he chose to do with his time.

"If I had to guess," the barkeep said with a theatrical gesture of his hand, "the invocation of Odin, Tyr, and Frigg." His face went stock still at that. "Oh, your father's back in town." He looked mildly uncomfortable himself at this revelation. "Well, in that case, I suppose a _Mjölnir_ with an Irish Car Bomb as a chaser." Already he was moving for the tall glass and a pint.

And the guy knew the gods you invoked, why you invoked them, and the drink you needed for such occasions. "Better upgrade that _Mjölnir_," Henry muttered weakly.

"Ah, _Jörmungandr's_ Venom then, hold the chaser," the barkeep responded, reaching for a shot glass. "Must have been quite the day."

"It's only been the evening."

Johann let out a sharp whistle at that, making an "ouch" face as he moved one size up to a shooter glass, knowing Henry would need it. "And I assume you'll want to pay homage too?"

Henry nodded, digging into his back pocket for his wallet. He quietly retrieved a couple Archipelago Hall-bills, setting them gently on the counter. Johann quickly pulled down another three shot glasses, brimming them with top-shelf mead that glistened like liquid gold before accepting Henry's payment.

Without a word, Henry balanced the three shot glasses between his hands, practiced as he walked over to the table nearest to the fireplace without spilling a drop, setting two of them down before he approached the fire. With a reverent nod, he flicked the first shot into the fire, sending it dancing hungrily the moment the alcohol hit. "To Odin, for safe journeys." He flicked the second. "To Tyr, for justices served and justices yet served." And third. "To Frigg, for a home yet to be found." The gods may never have answered any of his direct prayers, but that didn't mean he wasn't grateful for them for the little things. If there was something he could offer, it was worth a shot of the best mead he could afford to each of his most sacred gods and hope they would appreciate his libations. Best to pay his respects forward and anticipate the best for the small good things that happened and for prayers yet unanswered. What did they call that? Hope? Something like that.

A shooter glass filled with dark green liquid greeted him as he walked back to the bar stool he'd claimed as he deposited the empty shots. As if to project the summary of his evening into the atmosphere, he pulled out his phone and earbuds, quickly scrolling through his lists once the bud was secure to his ear. With an evening like he'd had, it would be a miracle if he _didn't_ need something to project through him.

The soft intro of a guitar greeted him as he closed his eyes, taking sip from the edge of his drink. His face was bland and impassive just before the vile alcohol hit his throat like actual poison, the small trickle burning his gullet on the way down. His face morphed into sour bitterness as he swallowed it down, his tongue feeling parched almost instantly as it slapped dryly against the roof of his mouth.

_'__~Feel the weight of the world,_

_Over me, tonight;_

_If I break, if I break down this time,_

_Hope you know I tried~'_

A strange aftertaste lingered in his mouth as he set his drink back down, his throat thick and heavy as though he'd just drank cough syrup. A deep breath did nothing more than claw at his sinuses, forcing a sharp sting to circulate through his nose and eyes.

_'__~My mind's such a mess,_

_I can't handle it,_

_I'm at the end of my rope~'_

He sniffed, the rims of his eye prickling rebelliously as he half-fought his own body now that he was in a place that felt safe for him. It was hard to let go of the restraint. Despite himself, he took another sip, another crack in his dam forming without the alcohol's help. The music was doing just fine on its own.

_'__~I'm so sick of this,_

_Just so over it,_

_Why won't you let me let go~'_

He breathed in deeply again, his exhale much sharper as he lifted a hand to his face, pushing his glasses upward to. He hid his eyes behind that hand, as if he could childishly hide from the world simply by removing his own vision from the equation.

_'__~My neck is breaking, body shaking;_

_Sometimes it's so hard to breathe~'_

He leaned into his hand as the first long shudder left his lips, his jaw trembling. With the shiver came the first drop that graced along his jawline, as gentle as any caress he could imagine. Painful; yet comforting.

_But no one sees it follows me,_

_I always end up underneath,_

_The weight of the world~_

He pulled his hand away, the rims of his eyes a little red as he took a deep breath to stabilize himself and readjust his glasses. He choked down another sip as he swallowed his deeper emotions with it. The song continued, squeezing his heart with every chord and lyric, but he resigned himself to letting it wear at him like waves over a cliff-face. A heart of steel was easier than letting it be squashed unendingly.

One of his ear buds was pulled from his ear, earning no response from Henry as he lifted his glass, the soft flickering light of the hearth making the "Venom" glow menacingly. A hand clapped him on the shoulder as the stool next to him was pulled out.

"Your music is so depressing. And a little too spot on sometimes. It's like watching your own ego on display." Dagur smiled softly with the other bud held to his own ear as he sat and pulled himself closer to the counter before turning to Johann with a couple of bills. "I'll drink what he's drinking."

Johann accepted, immediately preparing another drink as Dagur glanced half-heartedly at the table.

"I'd been waiting. Took you longer than I expected to get here," he continued, eyeing Henry with concern. "Are you doing okay?"

"What does my choice in music say?" he bit, scrunching his face in self-frustration before sighing, pulling out his only remaining earbud and stopping the player on his phone. "Sorry. I'll be half-decent by the time I'm done." He swirled his shooter for emphasis. "I just couldn't be there for longer than necessary. It was… suffocating."

Dagur nodded, fiddling with his hands nervously as he seemed to be struggling with something. "Look, I'm never gonna be good at this stuff, so… thanking you, for holding back this evening. I know Heather appreciates it. And I certainly do."

"Don't get used to it," he commented hoarsely as he took another bitter sip, the taste a little more acquired as it slithered down his throat like an actual serpent. "It took more restraint than not, so I'm not doing _that_ again. I'd rather skip dinner if that's going to be a regular occurrence. It'll save us all some pain and no shortage of heartache if I didn't show up next time. Mandatory or not."

Dagur nodded glumly in understanding as his own drink was presented to him. He waved to Johann in thanks, before spinning the glass thoughtfully. "I was actually surprised you held back at all. I could practically see the veins throbbing in your face, so I didn't know if you would. But still, you held back for Heather and me, so like I said, I appreciate it."

Henry glanced over at the redhead, mulling on his words carefully and considerately. Dagur was the closest thing he had to a brother, and honestly, that sentiment extended to Heather as a sister. He knew only a few of the details that brought the Oswaldsons under the Haddock wing, especially what had happened to Dagur.

As far as he could glean, a much younger Dagur and his father had gotten into verbal altercations, which would turn physical against the young Berserker. Dagur never talked about it, but some of those "lessons" were memorialized on his body. All it took was a deeper glance at his blue claw tattoos to realize that those were covering up actual marring's; and they weren't the kind received in combat. As far as Henry knew, Dagur had only drawn his father's ire to keep his sister out of the line of fire, but that didn't mean she wasn't present when Dagur took the yelling and the beatings. This eventually lead to Dagur effectively kidnapping the both of them, high-jacking a boat, and making their way to a different island; in this case, Berk. Official business with Berserk had been choppy ever since. It was a little deduction and reasoning that lead Henry to this conclusion, but he didn't have the courage to ask whether or not it was accurate. Besides, something in his head and heart told him he wasn't far off, and that was as close as he dared to breach the subject based on what little he knew.

And all he knew was when he and Stoick got into their own shouting matches, that neither Dagur nor Heather felt safe. He couldn't say he understood the depth of what that meant to them. He didn't have enough, if any, experience in those matters. But still, if even a fraction of his deduction was correct, he couldn't help but admire Dagur for his strength and commitment to protecting his family even more. And more importantly to him, he honestly appreciated having a brother like that, so it was the least he could do this time around.

"How did you find me anyway?" Henry asked, only to feel a meaty fist giving him a noogie to the crown of his head.

Dagur grinned childishly as Henry glared between his messed-up bangs covering his glasses. "Yur my bro, bro," he answered, smiling like a dork. "Of course I know where you go to mope. It's not like you go anywhere else."

Henry conceded that point as he looked up at the bar mantle, and the number of photos lining its edging. Or one in particular. The lackluster of a grainy 80's photograph familiarly drew his eye.

"She's beautiful you know," Dagur commented, earning half a glance from Henry. "Your mom."

The small rectangular photo was easily over twenty years old, solely based on the bright smile of the man next to her. His father. Of what little Henry knew about their romance, they'd met and dated here, back when the Raven's Point was under old management. Seeing that photo was like looking into another world. A happier one.

Henry liked to imagine what it would have been like to hear her laugh. Was it sweet? Melodic? Or maybe broken? Or honking? Maybe his father would have laughed too.

_'"__What if's" don't bring comfort,'_ he reminded himself indifferently as he let his chest grow cold again. _'They only taunt us with what we don't have.'_ He didn't have a mom. He was used to that by now. Even though the love Ingrid had for him was certainly motherly in nature; it was impossible to accept it on some fundamental level.

"Yeah. She was," he dismissed softly, taking a slightly bigger sip of his liquor. This was one of the reasons he came here of all places. The other, because his father wouldn't step a foot in there if his life depended on it. Too many good memories came with too many sad ones. It was Henry's own sanctum, safer than any shrine to the gods if he wanted to get away.

Dagur downed his shooter in a couple gulps, a shiver jumping up his spine. "_Ooooh-ho-ho!_ That burns!" he exclaimed as he leaned over the counter, double-tapping his glass against the wood as he inhaled sharply. "Good stuff."

Henry just eyed him, before sipping at his again. It was probably bad enough both his arms were starting to tingle from the few sips he'd already taken; Hel, his chest was uncomfortably warm and he could feel his neck prickle as his veins audibly pumped. Then again, _Jörmungandr's_ Venom was known for plastering full-grown Vikings who downed it in a single gulp; and given his scrawny size, he'd end up shit-faced if he tried downing it all at once. Despite his full stomach, it absorbed way too quickly. But he assumed Dagur had a much higher tolerance than most Vikings; after all, Berserker blood ran hotter than most. Henry could only half-scoff to himself at that, and his own measly attempts at drinking.

"Anyway, do you want a ride back to the Hoffersons?" Dagur offered kindly, his cheeks not even tinted red. Lucky bastard. Henry's face was probably strawberry by now.

"No thanks," Henry answered, looking down at his shooter glass without a really seeing it. "I figure I'll hang out here for a little bit. Besides, Heather needs you more than me– Hey!"

Dagur had Henry in a head lock before he finished that line of speaking. Another noogie frazzled Henry's hair as he looked up bitterly. "That's to remember me by," Dagur stated cheekily, already heading for the door before Henry could even try to fight back. "At least give Ingrid a call, alright? No need to walk home in this weather. And don't drink and drive." And just like that, he was gone.

"Says the guy that just downed a shooter of Venom," Henry muttered. He honestly appreciated Dagur's concerns. It let him know someone cared.

Without really thinking, he took another sip. Oh yeah, he was definitely feeling it now. Gods, his eyes were feeling scratchy and dry. His vision wasn't blurry, his speech wasn't slurred, and he wasn't feeling off balance, but he hadn't tried getting up yet. Shit! He didn't want to inconvenience Johann by sleeping his stupidity off at the pub.

The doorbell rang again, and Henry looked, half expecting to see Dagur coming back for his keys. No such misfortune. In lumbered two more of Henry's more preferred Vikings.

"Ah, evenin' Henry," an abnormally curt voice greeted.

"Evening Plate. Mulch," he greeted back, nodding to Mulch as he walked in behind his companion. "How's the fishing?"

"Eh, could be worse," Plate stated with a large, innocent smile underneath his silky beard and mustache. If the gods had saved a kinder man, Henry doubted it. The man survived years of military service with nary a scratch on him, only to end up with a shattered frontal cranium sliding across black ice on his home island. Half his skull was replaced with metal, hence the name "Plate". Nothing had really changed in him, save for his attention span and some memory recall.

And he was the only person in the Archipelago's history to survive seven lightning strikes to the head with no apparent residual damage. _Ehhh_? Save for the two or three times he went temporarily blind. What the gods were trying to prove? Hel if Henry knew, but he liked seeing Plate around. He was kind to Henry, and if nothing else, Henry appreciated his wide-eyed wonder and innocence.

"Aye. The fishin' is fine," Mulch interjected, but looked royally pissed, "bu' some varmint been messing with our catch." He stamped his wet rubber boots angrily, as he rubbed his stubby hands together. Likely to force blood circulation into his cold extremities. "Delinquent punks most likely."

Henry nodded sympathetically. Mulch was easily the most experienced fisherman on the island. And the only one to not be missing any appendages. He and Plate had been war buddies, and since Plate's accident, Mulch has been taking care of him ever since.

"Damned rascals!" Mulch continued. "We've lost a quarter of a boatload since yesterday. It's not a big boatload mind you, but it still counts! Someone's been shittin' in a corner of the bay and ruinin' the fish while some of it goes missin'."

Henry raised an eyebrow to that. While it wasn't uncommon for younger teens to play pranks, that was just… disgusting and vile. He took another sip of his drink to refocus his disgust. It was one thing to play a prank. It was another to completely fuck with a guy's livelihood. And shitting in a boat bay?! Personal experience as Gobber's assistant said that those bays were not easy to clean out. They'd have to get their small fishing boat dry-docked to even start. _'What is the world coming too?_' he thought shaking his head, both in bewilderment, and to keep his head from feeling tipsy. _'This generation. I swear.'_

It took only a moment for him to realize that he was thinking like an old man. Shit.

"Sorry to hear about that," Henry said, only slightly more emotionally invested now. "Any suspects?"

"None," Mulch admitted glumly, slumping as he shook his head. Plate was quick to pat his friend on the head, looking sad now that their story was told.

Henry turned to Johann across the counter. "Could you open a tab for me? Their drinks on me."

"Certainly Master Henry," Johann said with a small head bow, only to bob his head back and forth so-so. "However, I am inclined to tell you that you already have an account settlement."

Henry frowned at that. "Well shit. How much do I owe you?" He didn't drink _that_ often, but it was better he knew now than later.

"Not so much owe," Johann corrected with a more reserved expression. "I believe you asked me to retain the change from all your previous transactions as something of an account. From the start if I'm not mistaken. A forward payment if you would."

"Oh," he said in surprise, blinking thoughtfully. "How much do I have on account then?"

Johann pulled a tablet out of his apron, scrolling through it softly. "Over three dragons," Johann stated simply, looking impressed and pleased with the amount.

Henry, meanwhile, choked on his own breath. "Three dragons?! Thor, I didn't know I was that much of a drinker."

"Shall I put these fellows tab for the evening on your account then?" Johann clarified.

"Um… yeah," Henry nodded, taking a moment to process the sentence, staring down at his drink in surprise. "At least I know where to come if I'm short on change."

Johann smiled before returning back to his business. "Now! Gentlemen. Master Henry has offered to pay for your drinks this evening."

"Oh, there's no need for that lad," Mulch balked dismissively. "We're not so bad off that we can'' pay for drinks."

"Thank you, Henry," Plate said, taking the offer as it was given at face value, already sitting down at the counter, looking up at the drinks board wondrously as he tried to decide what he'd like.

Henry just shook his head, a little groggier than he remembered. "You'll be spending the next couple days getting your boat cleaned, which means no fish, no income. Besides, I never heard of a Viking who refused a drink." A humored smile touched his face as Mulch seemed to resign at that. Predictable, but welcome none-the-less.

"Well, fair enough I suppose," he stated, seating himself next to Plate.

Henry turned back to his mostly finished drink, already more buzzed than he… no. He was more than buzzed at this point. Maybe not significantly so, but he was probably drunk. Funny. His mental processes all seemed to check out; too bad he probably couldn't say the same thing about his physical capability. He took a deep breath, his diaphragm and chest expanded to contain his expanding lungs. And his exhale depleted him in a moment. He felt thoroughly exhausted.

What time was it anyway? Seven? Seven-thirtyish? He checked his phone really quick, his eyes suddenly straining from the LED light. _'Seven forty-eight.'_ It was going to be a long walk to the Hoffersons, and it was Friday tomorrow. Best approach the last day of the school week without staying up too late.

Resolving himself to something stupid, he took his shooter and took a big, nasty gulp as he threw his head back, polishing it, and his teeth, off. It felt like fire was doused in alcohol and bellowed with oxygen as it slid down his throat. It felt so thick as it burned, like smooth petroleum jelly. He held back a groan of anguish as he set his glass down, leaning his forehead on the counter as the alcohol seemed to hit his blood like oxygen in the fuel line of a vehicle.

Was it normal to be able to feel his veins? Or to feel both sides of his brain buzzing with erratic excitement? It was like he had stuck his finger in a light socket with how charged his body felt. That couldn't be normal. Then again, he didn't drink often. He felt… what was this feeling… unstoppable?

Meh. That was the alcohol talking. He'd drank _Jörmungandr's_ Venom before, so it was easily all in his head. But hey, his body felt amazing and completely pain free! Bonus. He'd need it for getting back to the house.

He rolled his eyes as his throat cleared up and he breathed easy with his empty shooter. Alcohol didn't get rid of the issue though, and Henry was sure he'd wake up hating himself and the world tomorrow, but the bright side was, he might never have to drink again if he never went back to Haddock Hall while his dad was there.

But the day after tomorrow was Saturday. Fuck! He had to buy groceries. Seeing his dad was unavoidable.

_'__So much for that,'_ he thought defeatedly as he pushed himself up. He'd make a proper alcoholic yet if this kept up. "See you guys later. Gotta get back."

"Alright, bye Henry," Plate waved happily, sipping on his frothy drink.

"Thanks for the drinks lad," Mulch nodded, saluting a tankard of beer toward him. "Thor keep yeh."

_'__I don't think Thor likes me,'_ he thought with an internal chuckle. But he'd take a blessing where he could get it.

His first step sent him off balance and crashing into the rough, scratchy carpet. Funny. He didn't even feel it. It wouldn't have even mattered, if the floor didn't smell like dust and the rubber belt of a vacuum. When was the last time it was thoroughly cleaned? Was that a bread crumb?

"Are you alright, Master Henry?" he heard over the counter.

He lifted a numb arm up, giving a floored thumbs-up. "Never better Johann," he said clearly, his mind taking precedence where his body was failing him, per the usual. Good think his stomach was full of food; otherwise the alcohol would have started sterilizing his stomach… in the worst possible ways. "Just need to find my sea legs."

Henry pushed himself up, taking a deep, lethargic breath as he contemplated asking to lay down somewhere. Stubborn as ever, he grabbed the nearest chair for support, and steadily pulled himself up. _'Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!'_ he berated himself. He really shouldn't have gone for that last gulp.

He took another wobbled step forward, easing his way into it before fixing his glasses.

"Will ya be alright lad?" Mulch asked.

"Yeah," he nodded heavily. "I'll just use the cold to sober up." He gave his best reassuring grin before walking on his way. "Thanks."

He panicked when he almost forgot, brushing the entrance way runes again as he silently thanked his gods. And just like that, he was out in the cold. He didn't really feel it thanks to the alcohol, but he knew he shouldn't dally, his physical coordination still off. Along the side of the pub building, Henry could see Mulch's truck and large tank-like trailer for hauling, what he assumed was the portion of their catch that was still good.

As much as the gods used him for entertainment, he wandered over to it, letting his warmer breath fog up his glasses as he bowed his head to Njord, god of the seas and its fare, asking for a good catch once Mulch and Plate's got back to sea. It was cruel what happened, and he figured he could live without any of the gods blessings if he could pass it off to someone else.

He turned, aiming for the road that would lead him back to town. It might take fifteen minutes. It was only a mile. Getting to the Hofferson's however… that would be a little longer with how he was stumbling. Thank the gods he wasn't swaying.

_Thum!_

He jumped, almost falling over again as his center of balance fumbled. He turned around slowly to prevent from whiplashing and by default, knocking himself down with all the good his drunk-addled body did him. "Hello?"

_'__Oh yeah, what're you expecting? An answer back?'_ he wonder crassly in afterthought, shaking his head at his own prickly internal chastisement. Still, he really hoped someone would answer back; at least it would settle his paranoia. It was dark, it was late, it was freezing, and by the looks of it, it was gonna storm. All the signs that you shouldn't fuck with people.

_Thum!_

He _yipped_ like a dog, hopping back before losing his balance completely, falling butt-first to the ground. His rear was sore, but his vision was clearing up fast as adrenaline began mixing with alcohol in his bloodstream. It felt like every nerve was buzzing, every hair on his body standing on end with tension. If he were a cat, he would be hanging from the ceiling by now. He absently took inventory, just to realize that he was unarmed and virtually helpless against any assailant that he met. Fortunately, he hadn't left the parking lot of Raven's Point.

He slowly calmed his breathing as he looked around for the source of the noise, realizing with another _Thum!_ that it was coming from Mulch's trailer. And the very large figure on top of it. Henry's mind temporarily went blank in confusion as he watched the figure try to pull off the hatch on top of the tank, growling as it beat its meaty fist against it angrily.

Henry just watched, completely transfixed. It was such a weird thing to see that he didn't even notice his mouth was agape. "Um? Okay then," he muttered, cocking his head lazily. He quietly stood up, brushing himself off with the grace of a one-legged duck before he looked up.

With a mournful croon, the figure atop the trailer huffed, looking over the side for a spot to jump down before it came face-to-face with Henry. Like a child caught sneaking ice cream, they both froze.

Henry was pretty sure that the figure was a Viking. And judging by the details he could make out from the light from the pub, he was in a military uniform. How could he not recognize that? But he wasn't like anyone Henry had ever met. Every ounce of visible hair on his furry face was scraggly and sticking multiple different directions, and so much guck caught in his beard, it was basically a portable picnic. Ugh! And the smell was starting to hit him, like sour fish.

But Henry froze, still caught up in the one thing that didn't make sense. It's eyes. They seemed to glow with a light of their own, a toxic green that reminded him of his Venom glass. They bored into him with all the predatory awareness of a hungry bear. And then some.

Plus they were slit, so while half of his brain was going, _'Oh shit, he saw me! Fuck! Run you fool!'_, the other half was more along the lines of _'Huh? How'd he get slit pupils? Genetic mutation? Did the gods curse him? Maybe he ate something bad? What a lovely color.'_

It wasn't until he heard boots hit concrete that he was started out of his thoughts. The figure had dropped down, walking in an awkward gait on all fours. Then it sniffed his direction.

"Okay – um – I don't know who you are," Henry stuttered, slowly fumbling backwards as it began moving toward him, looking more and more dangerous as the Viking approached. He raised his hands non-threateningly to no avail. "But – uh, maybe I should just leave – Heh – I never saw you, and I'm pretty sure I can chalk it up to one Hel of a night. Sound good?"

The Viking in the military uniform cocked his head, like a dog, before crouching lower as it continued to sniff at him.

"Oh gods! What the Hel is wrong with you?"

* * *

_'__What the stars are you?'_ he wondered, walking toward the small creature curiously. It was clearly a human. But it had no fur around its face. And it was small. Tall enough, but it didn't look very sustainable. Like… it was a snack-size human.

The slimy catcher's had almost caught him when they inspected the slimy's in their giant metal water beasts stomach. There had been some angry shouting. Then he had to hide in the slimy's when they entered the water beasts hold, inspecting the slimy-num-num's. He'd snuck out, and watched as they took most of the beasts slimy's with them in another metal beast. He didn't understand what the shouting was about, but he understood that they weren't happy with the remaining slimy's. It wasn't his fault that his flesh-bag made sure num-num's went in delicious… but came out… changed. And not for the better. He was sad for ruining the slimy-catchers num-nums. Slimy-catchers were good humans.

But he was still hungry.

So he'd hid on their metal beast with the indent in its back as they rode inside it. All he had wanted was those slimy-num-num's the slimy-catchers had in the metal beast that followed behind it. But by whatever star it was born under, it wouldn't divulge the contents of its large stomach. It wouldn't expel and share the slimy num-nums from the hole they had poured them down. The metal creature kept its mouth shut and unyielding, and he didn't have the fire to challenge it.

But now, in his haste and impatience, he had been seen. By the… snack-sized human? It didn't have a _pew-pew_, and it didn't smell of num-nums. Instead it was talking, while raising its funny-paws. And what was the two shiny things on its eyes? His host didn't have a second set of eyelids. Curious.

This was confusing. Still, the snack-size human seemed unarmed. And what was that smell?

* * *

"Okay, back away," Henry demanded, half-tempted to shout… right before he remembered that he'd just bought drinks for the only Vikings available, so they weren't likely to move for a while. And the soldier stood between him and the building. _'GODS DAMNIT!'_ He'd screwed himself with generosity. It was official. The gods hated him.

The soldier didn't back away. If anything, it came closer; still sniffing at Henry like a dog as it stalked closer… like a cat. There was no helping it now. This guy was crazy and Henry was in deep shit. He had so few options. He couldn't get back to the pub without going through the guy, and the next safe spot was after a mile of woods.

_'__How's your time on the mile run?'_ he asked himself far too calmly.

_'__Hopefully good enough!'_ he answered, panicked.

Still half-hazed by alcohol, he turned and ran.

* * *

What was the human doing? Was it scared? Did it want to play? Was it getting _pew-pew_ humans? There didn't seem to be _Pew-Pew_ humans on this land. _Pew-pew_ humans were bad. Still, he was curious. The snack-sized human was running. And he smelled interesting. Not like his stench ridden host.

With a low purr, he crouched lower and began to sprint, giving chase to the snack-size human. It was a surprisingly agile little human. He blamed the quality of the brain-dead body he inhabited. It ran on the black-rock like its life depended on it. Huh? _Snn-snn_. The human was scared; its scent said so. Most were, but it was smart. It had looked at the closer human structure. Contemplated. Measured. And saw better odds running away.

Intelligent little snack-sized human.

Still, the chase was coming to a close. He was faster, and the human couldn't run forever. He felt his shoulders bunch as he pounced, fully expecting to catch the human with meat-bag's funny paws. He watched in surprise as the human jumped off the black-rock, and into the trees surrounding it, smacking through limbs loudly, but avoiding him all the same. Most humans weren't so aware of their surroundings.

Interesting. Much more interesting.

* * *

"Ow-ow-ow," Henry moaned as he ran, his face stinging where he had smacked blindly into the branches. If he had been cold before, he wasn't now. His body was heated as he pumped his arms, burning adrenaline and alcohol in a strangely volatile fashion. He _really _didn't want to die. Sure, his life sucked: he was a disappointment to his father, he had no place in his society, and he was in pain all the time.

Still, he didn't want to die. Not like this. Being chased by a weird Viking that was acting more animal like the berserker legends of old. While an interesting way to die, it wasn't on Henry's list of ways to go. He preferred "peacefully in bed" at the top of his list.

Whatever had happened to that guy, he was in the military, and he was built like it. If he got caught, Henry would be snapped like a toothpick. Maybe a chicken bone.

_Fthum!_ Henry's body snapped sideways as a weight smashed into him, sending him rolling painfully into the dirt and foliage. He couldn't feel his body? Oh right! The alcohol. He shook it off, looking up to see that the… Viking? Whatever he was… was pinning his body down, still trying to sniff at him.

_'__Oh gods! This is bad! This is very bad!'_

_'__Fuck! What would Astrid do?!'_

Wait! What would Astrid do?! Genius!

He reacted instinctively, aiming a punch to the Viking's throat. The larger man began gagging as he backed away in surprise, holding his throat in pain just before Henry finished it up with a two-finger jab to his eyes. Stunned and blinded, the man thrashed, making strange shrieks, moans, and whines that were as inhuman as they came.

Henry didn't care. He ran, while he still could.

* * *

_'__Ow-ow-ow!'_ he whined, trying to breath and see properly. The human hit him in the throat. The _throat_! And the eyes! And then left! It was a smart way to fight, stunning and blinding the opponent. Smart-smart human. Clever human.

But did the snack-sized human have to do it to him! _'Ow.'_ He was just chasing it cause it smelled interesting. Or because it was playing? Still, it didn't have to be so rough.

He whined to himself as he finally started breathing normally, shaking himself as he recovered quickly. The human wasn't far away. The scent was still fresh. And–

Mass emerged from his head, small flaps raising before they began trembling, his eyes slitting tighter. His nose raised again. _Snn_. _Snn_. Other humans. And metal with strange powder smells._ Pew-Pews_. On land? But different _Pew-Pews_. The scent was… off. Strange even. They didn't smell like _Pew-Pew's_ of this land mass. It's a very distinct scent that forged itself to the bone.

He felt his inner fires stoke reflexively, an internal sign of danger, only to feel sick as the lack of strength hit him like that snack-sized human's clenched funny-paw had. No fire. And very little mass. Not good. Really not good.

He adjusted his flaps as he opened his mouth a little wider, letting a high-frequency shriek echo through the surrounding trees, followed by a low-frequency warble. Sound bounced in detail as his flaps raised and adjusted, receiving an outline of his surroundings. Even the vibrational resonance echoed back, giving him a constant "view" of some objects.

Some of his flaps reabsorbed, the extra mass moving to tips of the his funny-paw-appendages as sharpened claws. He prepared to jump into the trees, the muscles in his hosts legs tensing when he felt the tendons rip. Pain flared through the hosts nerves, forcing a moan of agony from his mouth as the leg collapsed beneath him.

The body was degrading; deteriorating; shutting down. He hadn't intended for it to last so long, but now it was all he could do to hold it together, and he didn't have the mass to keep it that way for long. With swimming the freezing seawater and hitting his head on the metal water beast, it had taken too much damage. Humans were such frail things, with too many conditions and stipulations to maintaining their existence. Growling in annoyance at the limp back limb, and his own wasted time chasing the snack-sized human, he raised his ear flaps again, searching for a fresh body. The closer, the better.

* * *

Henry smashed his back against a tree, breathing heavily. His breath fogged at the air, its warmth defying the cold that stung at his throat and burned his lungs. His heart was pounding, refusing to slow down as it beat into his rib cage like a drum.

_'__Shit! Shitshitshit!'_ he practically screamed, his hand clapping over his mouth to keep from verbalizing his anxiety. He fumbled into his pocket for his phone, preparing to call someone before realizing that the light would only give himself away.

He didn't even understand what was happening. Why was that guy trying to get into Mulch's fish trailer? Why was he acting like an animal? And what on Jord's green earth was with the sniffing? He'd just run out of stupid drunken reflex, and now he was being chased. In some sick, twisted sense, Henry realized that this was the most alive he'd ever felt; and it sucked balls. He'd take a boring day at school anytime over this.

_Crack!_

Henry's ears perked as he stilled, his breath instantly becoming a whisper as his eyes began scanning the darkness. He knew the sound of a twig snapping by heart, and it instantly flicked on some strange sense of familiarity; as if he was only in training. In a way, it calmed him. Reassured him. It helped him focus where he was otherwise panicked.

But it wasn't the same. It wasn't a mock battle; it was real.

He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again, his eyes adjusting slightly to the dark. It wasn't even close to clearing his vision around him, but it was a start. Even with his vision impeded, his other senses were heightening to make up for it. When he breathed, he made sure to breath through his nose, searching past the pine scent of the forest around him. When he listened, he listened for anything that didn't belong in a Berkian night. When he felt, he paid special attention to the back of his neck.

_'__So this is what it feels like to be prey,'_ he noted, strangely calm with that analogy. It was… reassuring to know where he stood in the moment.

His ears perked when he heard a small sound, causing him to listen more intently. He couldn't quite identify it, but it reminded him of when he adjusted his grip on his mock weapons in training.

_'__Oh,'_ he thought, his mind half-dismissing it. Wait a seco–

_'__Oh!'_

He dived to the side, just in time to hear wood splinter, completely silent otherwise. Except for…

"Skull-Crusher alert, civilian exposure. First shot dodged. Engaging."

Already he felt his body half-hopping, half-pushing him to his feet into a run. While one half of his brain panicked, the other half took control with…

_'__Status: fired at head – for a quick kill. Firing at civilian: Not a very nice person. Fired at ME: Assailant designated as FOE. Ceasing of continued firing: banked on first round, currently surprised and alerting remaining squad. Assumed Target: use of "civilian exposure" suggests other target; unknown._

_'__Weapon: assault rifle; no muzzle flash, no sound, ergo – heavy suppression muzzle, military-grade; at least a x2 vision scope given distance of detected sounds._

_'__Threat Assessment: no visual – dark clothing. No night-vision glare – Helmet with built in night-vision; with possible thermals. Other gear: standing by. Additional persons: part of larger squad. Risk to personnel: Guaranteed. Chances of survival: less than minimal._

_'__Final Assessment: I'm fucked.'_

Henry didn't know where he was running, much less a direction. He'd lost that sense a while ago. But he was less likely to be screwed if he could find that damn road again. But if that guy had thermals, he was _really_ screwed. Still…

He whipped out his phone, hoping he wasn't doing something really stupid.

* * *

Skull-Crusher Three was having a bad evening already. Not only did that civilian seemingly – and literally – dodge a bullet, he'd practically disappeared. He browsed over his night vision, trying to regain some semblance of visual around as he moved through the trees in the direction he'd last seen the civilian moving.

Light? Bright light, from behind a tree. Probably LED. Fucker must have a phone! Shit! They'd be compromised!

He stalked forward quickly and quietly, prepared to shoot on sight. He moved around, opening silent fire immediately in hopes of at least incapacitating his prey. His bullets hit the ground with a small spray of dirt, only to see an open phone browser. Clever little bastard. He swung around, wondering where the Hel he'd gone.

A weight slammed into his shoulders, sending him to the ground. He was stunned, feeling something brushing along his neck before a sharp pain rocked through his neck. And with that, he blacked out.

* * *

"Nobody ever looks up," Henry muttered humorously as he retrieved his phone, having jabbed the blunt end of a stick into the man's less armored neck, and into the Vagus Nerve. He wouldn't be waking up for a while. "Thank you, biology class." Now what?

Just as he'd predicted, the assailant was military, but obviously not Berk; Berk was still behind in terms of stealth tech; they specialized more in next gen robotics. Bogs maybe? Nah, Berk was in good standing with the Burglars; plus this guy was a… well, a guy. Bogs tended to be women. Either way, definitely some unethical black ops shit. Berserks? Outcasts? He wouldn't even put it past those new members of the Thing; oh, what were their names? Some guys from Italy. Regardless, it was someone from the Archipelago. Fucking Viking politics.

Well he was knocked out. That's what mattered. The thought of killing the soldier never once crossing Henry's mind.

He would have speculated more, if it wasn't for someone grabbing him around the waist and smashing a large hand to his face. He struggled, moaned, and kicked, only to feel something sting across his cheek as the hand tensed over his mouth. He felt his captor hide behind a tree, breathing in a guttural fashion that made Henry take pause.

_'__Oh no, not you again,'_ he groaned to himself, noting that the guy's hands smelled of fish. That weirdo again.

But it was different this time.

He felt a strange sensation work its way across his face from the hand, like small needles puncturing his flesh. He began struggling again, only to be held secure as that feeling began to crawl up his face, every second feeling like something was slithering, branching across his face, like roots growing through his veins. He felt a shudder go through him, not knowing what was happening as well as in response to the panic rising in him again.

_'__Interesting. You're body isn't rejecting me. You are agreeable.'_ Henry felt the words shiver through him, telling him that they would consume him, body and soul. It was a promise. A guarantee that he would pass painlessly once this was over. It was more than he could have ever hoped for in life. And yet it hurt so much.

The feeling spread from his face, growing steadily more painful as it crawled down his neck and into this torso.

_'__Body is covered in contusions, old and new. Muscles show signs of unhealed tearing. However, you are surprising healthy. Nutritionally balanced. And… resilient.' _It said that like it was surprised. Henry didn't mind. It wasn't every day your heard voices in your head, but if he was gonna die, he'd allow it this once.

_'__You'll do for now.'_ A dark fog began to envelop Henry's mind, feeling as little by little of him was consumed and destroyed. He half wondered if he was being gassed for how quickly he was falling unconscious.

He closed his eyes in resignation, knowing it was a pointless thought to fight back. So he let his weakened body go slack, retreating to his final sanctum when all else failed: _his mind._ _He decided against looking over his memories like his life was flashing before his eyes. It was like resigning himself to dying, and he held fast as he mentally prepared to combat whatever weird-ass drug was circulating his body. Because that's what it was, right? It was introduced intravenously to the face or inhaled through the lungs, and currently circulating his body. Gods only knew what was happening to his body, but as long as he was safe in his mind._

_In the darkness, it was like floating in a starless vacuum. And he waited, floating aimlessly as he prepared._

_"_Fascinating little human_," he heard growl from around him, as if the darkness itself were speaking. An inky form began amassing ahead of him, growing as it _slurch!_ed and formed from the dark. It towered over him, contorting as it shaped itself into some gargantuan creature, glaring down on him like it was judgement from the gods themselves._

_Two massive green eyes stood out, glowing their own horrid light as they venomously shone, the pupils drawn into slits. "_Your mind is resisting_."_

_Henry swallowed as he breathed, blinking before he turned to glare whatever hallucination this thing was in the face._

_There were several things that happened at once._

_For one, their eyes met._

* * *

He'd already analyzed the human's body. It was easily the best flesh-bag he'd encountered to date. It was accommodating. It didn't reject him like others had. And it held more essential nutrients that others of the larger humans hadn't possessed. Sure, it was slightly damaged, but it was nothing that couldn't be healed with time. It was an ideal host, and he didn't want to waste it.

But it was resisting. Even enveloping it, he could feel a part of it vying for control. Every other host it had consumed had resigned themselves; faded to darkness. This one. This one was fighting back. It's body wasn't rejecting him, but it's mind wasn't giving into him either.

_'__Fascinating. Fascinating little snack-sized human.'_

Even forming around its mind, preparing to wipe that miserable creature from existence, it struck him how odd this creature was. It was smart in a number of ways, resilient in others. And he'd seen how it had taken down that larger _Pew-Pew_ human. It was ideal. But it wasn't its body that accomplished that. It was the mind.

Seeing that fragile little creature floating in its own head was something. It had this sad, degenerate view of itself. And then it looked at him, several things happening at once.

For one, their eyes met.

He would never say he connected with his hosts. They were simply vessels to be used until they were consumed and dried of energy.

But he saw the human. It was strong. In ways that most would not consider. It was smaller than most of its kind in terms of raw strength; but it was agile. It was intelligent; far more intelligent than others he had encountered. And it was terrified. Of death; of losing itself.

But those impressive feats; that fascinating mind had… so much potential. There was this small spark of... something.

He looked at _him_…

* * *

_If this was a hallucination, it felt more vivid than anything Henry had ever felt, even in real-life._

_Then their eyes met._

_He would never say he pitied the thing in his head, as if it were a personal demon his mind had conjured. It was like a monster, preparing to consume him as he protected himself from whatever was happening in the outside world. Probably being transported to a plastic shrink-wrap room to be dissected for sport._

_But he saw that monster. It was powerful, but frail. Dependent on life. It was just as trapped as he was. Just as hunted. Just as hated. Just as resigned from the world. And it was terrified._

_It… was just as lost and desperate as he was. But it was alive._

_He looked at _him…

* * *

**_…_****_And they saw themselves..._**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

Sorry if the breaking between Henry and yet unnamed symbiote dragon creature was a little confusing. In order to capture the all-round motions, emotions, and differences between the two of them, I had to play around with POV jumping. I hope it was smooth. Sorry if it wasn't! If you guys know a way to make it smoother, let me know.

**Disclaimer:** In case you didn't see above, the song I used in the bar for Henry was _Citizen Soldiers "Weight of the World"_. I recommend a listen through or two to capture the moment.

If you have any QCC's (Questions, Comments, Concerns; respectfully), let me know via Private Messaging or Review. Any and all questions pertaining to future chapters, characters, etc. is subject to the SPOILERS! clause 9 section 24b of Form B-36.

That being written, please indulge my curiosity and let me know what parts you guys liked, what parts need work, and overall what you guys think about it :D _Fury_ is more or less in a Rough Draft phase, so I'll be editing it every now and again to implement improvements.

Don't forget to Review, and I'll read ya guys next time with Fury - Chapter 7 _"Integrating"_ (I don't know if this chapter name will be final, but it's a start)


	8. Chapter 7: Assimilating Part I

**A/N: **Hey guys! SteinMon here! Sorry if it's been a while.

_**Trigger**_** Warnings: **Besides getting shot at, I don't think there are any other warnings.

I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I _am_ here to learn. That being said, I also respond to Reviews.

_**Review Responses:**_

\- vangian13: Thank you. The evening isn't quite over yet though. While I like your idea, I saving most things involving Valka for later. I've already made some hints as to what happened, but there will be many more before anything is officially covered ;)

\- Anonymous Noob the 2nd: That was clarified last chapter, but I did expand it a little bit this chapter.

\- "No Account": No guarantees. Unfortunately, Henry has a very difficult road ahead of him.

\- "Eris": Don't know yet, but it'll probably be grueling XD

\- The Faithful Servant: It'll be mostly slow going, I can say that ;) There's a lot going on, and so little time to cover it all!

\- "ALEX2X7": Um... which "Try to Fight It"? I looked it up on the internet, and I had a whole platoon of songs to choose from.

\- "Wolf": Thanks. Third-person POV jumping always makes me nervous. It's good to know that I did okay.

\- Sans the foolish: Thanks! I'm really proud of this idea! :D

\- Dragonholic: XD While true, that's not what makes Henry "smell" interesting.

\- Purpleflame2: Thanks!

\- starvires: Unfortunately, I don't have a solid release schedule. I just work whenever the inspiration hits me. Sometimes its faster, sometimes its _really_ slow. Right now, its super slow, and I'm working on three stories while ironing out two other ideas. It's a lot of mental cramming.

\- Scrumblenut: Hopefully this chapter will add to your processing!

\- Atarious: Here's that update!

***End of Responses**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person. Also, the song I used in this one isn't specified so, I'm adding it up here. It's _Citizen Soldiers "Weight of the World"_, I recommend giving it a listen or two just for that moment.

I would also like to point out that I don't own any media that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story. Any topics or subjects (military and occupational) that come up are _not_ from a professional stand-point, but are written with as much knowledge I could garner through research, common sense, and from friends and acquaintances with experience in those matters. I may have also watched some YouTube :P

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

Chapter 7: Assimilating Part I

Henry strangled out a gasp, his lungs pulling from the air as though he had been drowning. His heart was pounding as though it hadn't known what true life was, and now it was beating for all it was worth like a frightened rabbit. He bent over on his side, throwing up whatever was left in his stomach, a sickening gruel that was just thick enough to be disturbing.

And that vomit included whatever was left of _Jörmungandr's_ Venom in his stomach. The alcohol burned as it came back up, but it wouldn't leave his throat. Instead it built up painfully, forcing Henry to lurch forward as he pinched his eyes closed through tears. A stream of grey smoke exited his mouth and nostrils, swiftly carried away by a breeze as he coughed harder, finally clearing his throat.

"Oh gods," he wheezed, pushing himself back into a sitting position. He felt like shit. Worse, he felt like the shit someone had just stepped in and wiped everywhere. However, his stomach was a little better, but still overall horrid. He barely made a glance behind him before he was jumping to his feet.

"Wha! What the…?!" From where he'd just been, sat the remains of a body. It was empty, barely more than a husk and a lot less than a living being. Its hair had fallen out, the white strands as pale and lifeless as the body they belonged to. It was just short of a skeleton, bones exposed under the taunt flesh. If it didn't look so squishy fresh, Henry might have thought it was a dried old mummy corpse. Maybe one of his ancestors. It looked like a freshly made Draugr from Skyrim.

And he'd been sitting in its lap.

He shivered in disgust, his body doing a little wiggle dance as if it would rid him of the violation he felt crawling up his spine. "Where the Hel did you come from?" He couldn't dedicate a full iota of thought to it though. He was still too disgusted. "And how long was I out?"

His latter question was answered when he noticed the guy in the stealth suit he'd rendered unconscious. _'And I did it while drunk,'_ he mused with an appreciative nod. _'"Not a proper Viking," my ass.'_

"Which means you're…" he turned back around to the body, "…the fish guy." He was even more confused now, and he rubbed his temple, thinking he was suffering from a hangover.

Or the aftereffects of whatever drug had been introduced to his system.

Other than the obvious disorientation and sitting next to a dead body that hadn't been there before, he felt… strangely fine. Better than fine.

He was preparing to brush himself off when his entire perception seemed to change. An oscillating droning entered his ears as the hairs on his neck stood erect. It was… _weird_. He was feeling everything, and yet nothing. The soft brush as wind hit the uneven surface of tree bark, each of its ridges providing a unique depth to the sound; like an ever-growing fingerprint. The soft creak of branches laden with their needles and leaves, and their burdens making hushed whispers as the wind swayed through them.

He felt their rasps underground as they slithered in the soil with one thing in mind: expand, sink deeper, support. Roots. Even the dirt seemed to have a voice of its own, like a content silence that needed nothing more than to lay there in peace. It was surreal, and it was everywhere. As if hearing only the secrets of the land that only the gods could identify… that only the gods _should_ be able to hear.

And then there was the disturbance. The bristle of pine needles as they were swept gently aside. The soft huff of breath that moved against the wind. The rolling groan of footsteps on the protesting earth. The steady beat of passive hearts that had long forgotten fear.

And the bitter-sweet hollow hum of metal. The rhythmic slide of two grinding objects lubricated by oil. The sharp _chuk_ of a bolt sliding back into place.

A strangely heavy sensation shot through his arm, as if his body was responding on its own whim. It swung, forcing his body to cater and spin with it, pulling him to the side. He was met with a familiar _whiz!_ and _crackle!_ as something splintered a tree.

_"Run!"_ he heard in his head.

And Henry heeded that call. A sudden sharpened sense of direction called to him, and he bolted in that direction. His first step was the weirdest, his initial push off sending him flying head over heels, smashing into tree branches with all the grace of a clipped, depth-blind pigeon. He landed with a _thud_ on the pine needle blanketed ground, groaning out of reflex.

Another bout of strange sensations rushed through his head, gripping around his ears as though they were infected. The sudden _whoosh_ of his hearing reaching out caused him to gasp at all the information that one sense could communicate.

"_Target has a new host_," he heard, slightly distorted by distance and the mask it wore. "_Repeat, target has found a new host. Civilian. Uploading picture profile_."

Henry senses collapsed once again, making him gasp and blink in sheer exhileration. "Holy fu–" He didn't finish when his entire body lurched upward, pulling him to his feet before his arm yanked him along again. Just in-time too.

He heard the tell-tale _whiz!_ of silenced bullets zipping past him, impacting with precision that – had his body not been randomly jerking in several directions – would have peppered him with holes. And if he was honest, he wasn't keen on knowing what his insides looked like.

_"Agreed! Our guts are great where they are! Now run!" _he heard again, and this time, Henry kept his footing as the toes of his shoes dug into the ground. There was something different. Something… …. He couldn't put his finger on it. He shot off, running like he'd never run before. Every thrust of his legs, every pump of his arms, every pound of his heart; each propelled him forward like a madman. The wind pushing past his head blew sounded protests in his ears, _whoosh!_ing as he dodged trees, jumped logs, ducked branches. It felt like he was moving faster than humanly possible.

_'Must be a side-effect of that drug,'_ he thought absently. Nothing else explained his senses, or this feeling of flying through the forests. However, over- or raw stimulation to the nerves could provide these exact same effects. Because that's what it felt like. Flying.

He was almost unaware that there were non-Berkian Black Ops shooting at him as he soared over the ground, somehow enjoying this sensation of euphoria despite the very real threat to his person. When he heard them give chase, he felt his body lock down; almost physically shifting up a gear as he pushed harder and faster. Flying was an understatement.

For a short while, he felt free.

Still unaware of where his inborne sense of direction was leading, the forests of Berk blending together as his vision stretched as though he were moving like the bullets that chased him, giving him the briefest glimpses of obstacles before he evaded and vaulted with agility that left his body reeling. This was a dream. A dream induced by a drug no less.

And to Henry's silent shame, he almost didn't want it to stop.

* * *

Skull-Crusher Leader was unhappy. One man had been put down by a surprise attack, the target had escaped, and what's worse, escaped through a civilian. They were compromised. What's worse, they were boned. The only reward for their efforts was the remains of the previous host, and even then, that could be tracked the same way they had tracked it.

"Fuck," he hissed, the sanctioned hit-men next to him shifting uneasily. They'd lost track of the target, and by extension, it's new host mere minutes ago, and they were not looking forward to any updates. What's more, the simple jump in host had provided the creature with an unusual burst in coordination. While information regarding these… _things_… was way above their security clearance, they were provided with some basics; among those being indications of host synchronicity and biological compatibility.

That civilian was _very_ biologically compatible if he was moving like that. Despite the jerky motions, it was fast. Faster then it should have been, and if their debriefing on the subject of host transfer was any indication, it would begin adjusting to the new body almost instantly. If it was already able to do that, Skull-Crusher Leader wasn't looking forward to facing it when it was fully adjusted to the new body.

"_I noticed you all stopped moving_," Crag-Deep noted snidely through their radios. "_Report._"

"Target got away," he obeyed, looking to his men as they carried their limp member. He could hear things breaking on the other end of the radio. He would have smiled humorously if it didn't mean they had failed.

"_And _what_ is preventing me from sending a team to wipe _your_ miserable existence off the face of the planet?_" Crag-Deep demanded, audibly seething.

Every Skull-Crusher present swallowed nervously, save for their Leader, who was banking their lives on this next move. Because otherwise, they'd be forfeit. "We were able to obtain a profile of the new host. Size, build, and if the idiot he took out has reliable camera footage, a facial description. Night-vision otherwise compromised color visuals."

There was a long pause. One that made each of them more uncomfortable with every passing second. It wasn't for almost a full minute – that might as well have been an hour – before they got a response. "_Upload and send it. Keep the link private_."

The Leader looked toward his men, nodding. They quickly stripped the helmet from their unconscious comrade, wirelessly uploading the visuals and recording from to their helmets before pinging them back to Crag-Deep. While Crag-Deep operations did keep real-time visual of their operatives, they didn't have the staff to cover everyone, so it was easier to download and send the specified data.

It was another several minutes before the team got a response. "_Head home, lads. The mission is sunk, and there's no recovering it_."

"What about the new host?" Leader asked on behalf of his team.

"_You do know who you took pot shots at don't you?_" They could all _hear_ the sadistic smile on the other end. "_The new host is Stoick's little embarrassment_."

* * *

Henry didn't know how far he had run. Maybe that was a good thing. All he knew was that his lungs were beginning to cramp, his pulse was pounding in his ears, his muscles were really feeling their strain, and he felt unusually hot. Stiflingly so.

Yet still, he felt a pull, directing him onward. He didn't stop. It was getting to the point that he was thinking that he couldn't stop. Some inborne pull keeping him from collapsing or catching his breath.

It wasn't until he found a road that he recognized where he was and where he was going. He was heading back to the Hofferson Hall. Even with the relief of his familiar surroundings and destination, he couldn't stop. If anything, he felt his body straining harder against his will, pushing him past his desire to stop and breathe for a moment.

He couldn't explain it. It was pulling harder and harder, like a foreign gravity that he couldn't fight. It pulled and ripped at him, calling him, imploring with him. Whenever he tried to stop, something seemed to tick in the back of his mind, and he kept going without a complaint despite feeling his body protest. It was the strangest feeling, being in control, and yet control feeling so far from his reach. The high he had felt was fading to something else.

To his relief, the lights were on over the garage when he came into view of the structure. That beautiful structure. He felt a surge renew him once more before he was pounding on the front door. In the quiet of waiting, he could see his breath creating a constant stream of steam in the night air. His heart was beating like woodpecker chatter, and his muscles were about to give out. His vision was swimming as he noted how unbearably hot it was. And it was getting hotter.

He was about to knock again when the door opened, revealing a sight he couldn't have been happier to see on his worst days, even if he tried. "H-Hey Ast-trid," he trembled, pulling his best smile, which looked more like grimace.

"What the fuck, Haddock," Astrid griped. "You have a key."

_'Oh, right,'_ he thought, forgetting all about that in his haze.

She seemed to do a double take at his appearance. The vacant look in his eyes, the wobbling as he tried to stand straight, the erratic breathing. "Thor, are you okay?"

"I-I'm fine," he stated unconvincingly. He tried to step past her into the house, only to collapse. Astrid caught him on reflex as he landed unceremoniously on her shoulder.

"Thor-fucking-Odinsson," she cursed, half-wishing she'd let him and his dead-weight drop; not that he was heavy to begin with. One sniff told her all she needed to know. "How much did you drink?"

"Threw up most of it," he admitted weakly, blinking heavily as he tried to force his legs to find themselves. They refused. Almost unconsciously, his head leaned into Astrid's shoulder, finding the warmth somewhat soothing considering he already felt like he was on fire. "It's… so warm."

She frowned at him before another detail became apparent. "How did you get home?"

_'Home?'_ he thought hazily before smiling slightly. Home was nice. Home was warm. "I ran. Someone… chased. Weird… fish guy. Bad… _pew pew's_," he grumbled through each breath.

Astrid rolled her eyes, pulling him inside before closing and locking the door. When she tried to set him down on the floor so he could kick of his boots, he moaned, laying on her shoulder harder. "I swear to gods Haddock, you remove your head, or I will remove it for you."

He couldn't help but snort. "That's what she said," he chuckled. He yelped when she shoved him off. Instead of catching his balance, he caved, his body unresponsive as he fell directly to the floor with an, "_Ow_."

She looked down at him, glaring a solid beam of pure fury at his head, but stopped when she got a good look at his flushed face. "Thor-damnit, Haddock," she growled, kneeling down next to him. She placed a hand to his forehead, wincing as she sharply pulled it back. "Your hot."

"Thank you," he grinned with half-focused eyes. "You're not so bad looking yourself."

She had to keep from socking him when he grinned cheekily at her. "I meant your forehead, smart-ass." She placed her hand on his head again, feeling the uncomfortable temperature. She moved down to his cheeks, then back to his forehead, then repeated. She frowned. The temperature was even, and yet he was burning up.

"Probably just a cold," he muttered as he felt some clarity, pushing himself into a seated position. "Those are common enough around here if I'm not mistaken."

Astrid didn't pay him any mind if the eyeroll she gave him was any indication, continuing her personal assessment as she felt across his brow and forehead. He was half tempted to bat her hands away but thought better of it. Better to spare himself another bruise. While she worked, he looked around, noting that the house was otherwise silent, all the other lights turned off.

"Did you wait up for me?" he asked, his hazy state not even bothering to think that question through.

"No," she stated with a droll look. "It's only eight-thirty. If I was waiting up for you, I'd have waited in the comfort of my bed."

He smirked at that, raising an eyebrow. She caught his look before it finally dawned on her what he was insinuating from her words. She threw up her hands in exclamation. "You are the most… insufferable…."

Whatever she was ranting about, he didn't bother to listen. "That's three for three Astrid. Best quit while I'm ahead." He got a sock to the arm that sent him back to the ground. What stunned him was the heavy lurch he felt in his hand that just barely held itself to the ground, the image of his hand batting her into the wall almost knocking him over a second time.

_'What the fuck?!'_

"Fuck yo–" She stopped, realizing she was just giving him more ammunition, unaware of his startled surprise. "You know what, fine. Fine! Let yourself in next time! Sorry I gave a shit!" With that, she promptly stormed her way up the stairs, not even bothering to ignore the squeaky step that creaked throughout the whole house.

He almost felt bad for being a dick. "Almost" being the operative word. But he was too busy thinking on more pressing matters than her current disposition toward him, important though that was in the long run. He glanced down at his hand, blinking heavily as he tried to figure out what the Hel that was.

Chalking it up to the nerves, the drinking, and all the "excitement" he'd had tonight; he had something else to worry about. Not that he could actually talk to anyone about it. He'd just been shot at, and _lived_. And there was no one he could tell, no one that would matter anyway. Not without proof.

A few people might believe that he'd just survived a foreign force on Berk. But when he thought about it, even his own thoughts on the story sounded ridiculous. Everything from the point he left the Raven's Point bar to now, was unbelievable. At least, without proof. And he'd already deduced that those guys were probably non-Berk Black Ops, most likely targeting the "fish-smell guy". Who was now a mummy.

He could try and find something in the area tomorrow. Something, _anything_ that would corroborate his story. Because without it, he up Fucked Creek without a paddle. Evidence was the only way he'd get anywhere. It was the only way he could warn his dad about the intrusion on Berkian soil. But after the way dinner had gone, he wasn't sure if all the evidence in the world would even get Stoick the Vast to so much as blink.

The best thing he could do was keep everyone else out of it and hope that no one else came after him. Something told him it wouldn't happen, and he was familiar enough with book and tv tropes to know that the best way to protect anyone was to keep them close rather than distance himself. Hopefully he could find something tomorrow. But not tonight. He didn't have the energy for it, and if his reaction to getting socked by Astrid was any indication, his nerves were shot to Helheim, Niflheim, _and_ Muspelheim.

For now, he needed something else to focus on. As luck would have it, the way his body was becoming uncomfortably hot was a perfect excuse. He quickly kicked off his shoes and hung up his coat before moving to the kitchen. He hesitated for a moment before grabbing an ice pack out of the freezer, pressing it to his head and neck with a stiff shiver as he made his way upstairs. It was already melting fast by the time he made it to his room, droplets of freezing condensation mixing with feverish sweat. Not a great combination.

Gods. Ruth would probably tell him to strike a pose, and comment about how pornographic he looked, dripping wet with ice and perspiration as he was. She'd probably wolf-whistle and yell at him to take his shirt off too. He snorted at that. _'Fat chance.'_

That thought brought an actual chuckle to his throat as he stripped out of his sweat-drenched clothes and putting on an abnormally heavy amount of pajama layers to help sweat out whatever was running rampant through his system. The extra clothes only added to his discomfort, almost stifling his breath as he staggered to his bed, but it was the best he could do on such short notice.

Toweling off his head, setting up his phone for tomorrow, placing his glasses to the side, and turning out the light, he stared up at the ceiling for a good long while. _'What am I going to do?'_ Seeing as that question had no present answer, he closed his eyes and rolled over, hoping that he would get at least a moderate amount of sleep. And an answer would be nice too.

* * *

Something dark edged through his body as the final vestiges of wakefulness finally faded.

Underneath all the heavy layers and blankets, black veins visibly crawled underneath his heat-reddened skin, sprouting out like tendrils of roots growing in the soil of his body. His torso had gone black from his infected organs, and it only spread from there as it branched down through his limbs until even the tips of his fingers and toes were streaked with darkened lines where the smallest of his capillaries gave way to only his cells. Like a tree, with his heart at its trunk, spreading the rest of it intravenously.

Integrate, ingrain, spread, assimilate.

It was a simple process that had to be done as carefully as possible, especially for such an accommodating flesh-bag. Spreading too quickly risked damaging it in exchange for swifter – but more unstable – access to its abilities. However, he now had time to merge properly with the host; something he was going to take full advantage of.

If one were to watch and decern between the blackened veins and the bruises, both new and old, that had littered Henry's body, they wouldn't see them anymore. Something as simple as contusions had faded just after he had fully transferred into his new host. The muscular strain was harder to regenerate. His host's muscle fibers were little better than frayed strands. How it held together at all during their retreat was somewhat surprising, if it wasn't for its abnormal tensile strength. In fact, everything about this host was abnormal from the few meat-bags he had been able to sample.

Not that he was complaining, but the integrating was moving along far smoother than he had ever imagined, even with keeping a steadier pace. More surprising yet, the human was adapting to the more… drastic changes… happening to its body while it slept, and rather quickly he might add. Almost like it was made to be molded.

While he worked, he pondered the strange reaction he'd received from his host. The human female had struck him, and he had acted, intent on defending this decent match of a meat-bag. And _maybe_… just _maybe_… getting to put some fuel in the tank if he could. The female had seemed healthy enough. Instead, his hosts body had instinctively counteracted itself, despite his best intent to lash out quickly and efficiently.

_'So there are some things you can overwrite,'_ he wondered, once again feeling some strange admiration of host. But then, that opened a whole slew of questions that he couldn't answer; both about his host, and his host's capabilities.

For now, it was best to accommodate to his host's nest and den without further incident. If his host's body was any indication, it was regularly abused, though properly nourished. So unless said nourishment proved insufficient, it was probably best not to eat other humans… unless that female was the cause of his host's contusions. For now, observation.

Still, it bothered him. It was clear the female and his host shared a den, and such implications confounded him. She was not his hosts mate. That much was clear, even without smelling the air between them. Her strike was not playful in the slightest. And yet, he sensed no connection by blood. This further confused him. He had activated a sort of homing beacon in his host, one that instinctually drew him to his den, and yet he found it here: with a female that was neither his mate, nor his relation.

And… he would have to continue his work later. The adjustments were all but done, and he had utilized far too much of his acquired nutrients to treat his host's multiple subtle wounds; _including_ the latest addition. He quietly retracted his hold back to the host's core, spinning warm circles around that funny human flesh organ that went _thump-thump_, snuggling up toward the pulsing warmth. The best he could do now was to wait, adjust to the hosts body, analyze its livelihood, and slowly build up his own mass while he waited.

But for now, all that work had left him tired and hungry. Rest would be best for now. Food could come later.

The thought of some more _slimy-num-num's_ exhaled a croon from his host's chest. Best thing to do now was sleep.

_Snn-snn_. Still, he was interested in what the human female's presence inferred to his host. And vice-versa. The host was far too relaxed around another of his species, especially having had so many wounds from them. He might have chosen a host that no longer viewed damage to its body as relevant. Still, his host instinctively prevented itself from attacking the human female. Either it didn't see her as a danger, or it was protecting her. Altogether, it was confusing. Humans were very strange.

Hmm. Perhaps it would be best to take his time and see how his host reacts, after some… subtler adjustments. When push came to shove, "instinct" was the best way to learn about his new host.

* * *

As intrigued and fascinated as Henry's new tenant was over its new host, what it considered "quick" and "moldable" to its assimilation was a downright nightmare to the still unaware young man.

Literally.

Fevered dreams rattled his sleep as he tossed and turned, groaning in discomfort and moaning in abject terror. He dreamed of falling stars, peaks of icy glaciers, and mountainous caverns under the earth. He dreamed of boundless forests, expanses of ocean, and horizons of endless skies.

He dreamed of spreading, infecting, overtaking, dominating. He dreamed of fire raining from darkened skies, piercing inhuman wails rising from bloodied grounds, and thunderous roars that shook the earth. He dreamed of shrieking darts echoing across the sky, blue-violet bolts striking down from the heavens, and lightning flashing as the world exploded.

He dreamed of midnight black crawling over his body, emerging from the innermost reaches of his being as it licked and hissed across his skin. It broke him, tore him apart, rendered flesh from bone; before pulling him back together, reforming him. Then it did so again. And again. And again. Again. Turning him into something fascinating. Turning him into something new.

He dreamed of the darkness, like liquid chaos, swirling around him. He had stared at it too long, and now it stared back with venomous green eyes, slit like a cat's as they glowed their own harsh light. He was vaguely aware of its form, something panther in stature, but salamander in nature; slinking almost invisibly except for the faintest outline of a tail fanning like small sails. Strange appendages on the back of its head oscillated as it stalked. And massive wings shaped from its back, folding and unfolding; a smaller set flicking just underneath. But the finality of its being was where the darkness swirled around it, writhing and whipping like a mass of black worms as if it were consuming the dark. Or as if it was made of the dark itself.

Overall, it was some novelized nightmare that Henry wished he would just wake up from. But it didn't attack. It just stood there, watching him curiously, as if anticipating what he would do.

All he could do was stare at the darkness as slowly but surely, he lost himself to it. Consumed.

* * *

The first thing that greeted Henry into horrid, blustering wakefulness was the wrathful call of the feistier sex.

"HADDOCK!"

He blinked heavily, the next thing that greeted him was clammy chills and furnace heat that left him feeling heavy with misery and grime. _'Mmm! Nononono-no!'_ he whined to himself, lifting up his sleeve-hidden hand to feel his forehead. The sleeve was drenched. _'I can't be sick! Fuck!'_ He couldn't afford to miss any remedial classes.

Fortunately, he was relieved of his thoughts. Unfortunately, said relief came in the form of a blonde-haired Valkyrie busting through his door. The wrath of Odin was in her eyes, still dressed in her pajama bottoms and a tank top. Her hair was sticking in multiple directions like the dreaded Gorgon, Medusa.

_'So that's where the term "If looks could kill" came from,'_ he mused, sniffing as he tried to clear his nose to speak.

The back of his neck prickled as he watched her move in slow-motion, charging at him with murder written all over her face. He wasn't even sure what he did wrong, only that she had… wait… was that a soup ladle?

She pounced like a tiger, prepared to strike him with her impromptu weapon. His head took the path of least resistance and moved of its own accord, bending _just_ enough to avoid her strike. Barely. But her momentum threw her right on top of him, kneeing right were his gut had been before he rolled over the side of his bed, nicely gift-wrapped for her in his blankets, falling on the ground with an "_Oomph!_"

She followed suit, rolling and landing on top of him. She straddled his cocoon, lifting the ladle in a two-handed grip to bring it down with more force. Henry bucked underneath her, sending her off-balance on her downward swing and knocking both of their foreheads together.

"Fuck! Fuck, _ow_!" she cursed, pushing away from him with a kick, rubbing her head. "What is your skull made out of?!"

Henry just rolled over to look at her, a welt showing on his head where she had struck, only distinguishable from the rest of his red-tinted skin by the darker shade it brought. "I could ask you the same thing," he moaned miserably, his forehead suddenly felt itchy as the pain all but disappeared in an instant.

She glared over at him before kicking him as best as she could. "It's Friday! We have school!"

"So I'm told," he groaned. He rolled over, getting a lovely view of underneath his bed, strewn with toppled stacks of paper. _'Now when did those get there?'_

"You didn't wake me up!" she snapped again, kicking him, literally, in the ass. "And what about lunch!"

He turned back over, glaring at her as best as he could with how shitty he felt. "Make your own, or dig in from the left-overs," he stated, knowing that he was possibly waging the beginnings of a war in the Archipelago. But he had a whole stack of negative fucks to give, and he was cashing some in right now.

She looked out-right mortified after a moment as his words dawned on her. "B-but–"

"I don't think you want what I got right now, Astrid," he stated, meeting her eyes to convey precisely what he meant. "Besides, it's not like I can afford to miss classes either."

It finally clicked as she took a long hard look at his face, his reddish-auburn hair plastered sloppily to his forehead by thick wet strands. The half-glazed look in his eyes, the slight shiver that could be seen even through his blankets, or the heavy stuttered breathing that exhaled as he tried to keep himself warm. Then there was the flush in his face.

"Are you… okay?"

_'Now she asks,'_ he thought exasperatedly, before rolling into a position that he could use to help himself stand. Without further protest, he flopped back onto his bed, looking more and more like a caterpillar as he tried to worm his way back over to his pillow. His nice, soft, pillow.

Before he could align himself properly, he felt his bed shift, half-flinching when he felt a surprisingly soft hand land on his forehead. He moaned when he felt it move down to his cheek, then back to his head. It was warm, not unlike his body right now, but in a nice way. Still, he was left in his usual state of confusion. Since when were Astrid's hands so soft? Was it lotion?! It better not be fucking lotion!

"You said it was just a cold," she chastised, removing her hand quickly.

"I assumed it was a cold," he retorted, trying not to think of the events of last night at all. Specifically the getting shot at part.

"Well it's not." She looked down at his soaked head before groaning, like she had resigned herself to do something she didn't want to. "Alright, out of bed."

"_Mmm_, what?" he demanded.

"Out of bed," she commanded with a harsher tone. Oh yay! Doctor Hofferson was back. "You're sweating and soaked, and stewing in it isn't going to help you get better."

"You gonna draw a warm bath? Help me lather up? Scrub my back or somethin– _OW!_" Astrid's fist had made solid contact with his already aching head.

"You can damn well wash yourself!" she snapped. "But you _are_ going to change before you start to stink to high Vanaheim. _If_ you're going to school today."

He growled… actually growled at her as he tried to sink deeper into his covers.

Growling back at his stubbornness, she put two hands under his cocoon, and lifted, throwing him off the bed with ease. The satisfactory _oomph!_ and subsequent grumbles that left him told her that she had won.

"Now hurry up and change, I'll start a bath to help you sweat it out," she stated almost motherly, before she turned cross again. "And don't take forever. Unlike you, I'm not ahead of the entire curriculum, and I'm not going to be late because of your lazy ass."

She promptly walked out of the room and closed the door behind her, giving him the privacy needed to even begin contemplating her demands. He groaned when he knew she was right, dreading the sensations he knew were coming.

The moment he let his blankets drop, his entire body was cascaded with impulsive shivering. His clothes, despite being comprised of multiple layers, were currently heavy with stale sweat, but one sniff kept him from complaining. He _already_ stank to high Vanaheim.

In the distance, he could hear the tub filling up, telling him that he didn't have long before Astrid marched back in, regardless of his state-of-dress. She was impulsive that way. And as great as it would be to fluster her, he didn't want to be equally embarrassed in addition to whatever new bruises she'd add to his repertoire.

Reluctantly, he peeled away layer after layer, cringing when he heard each one land with a soft _flop_ in his laundry bag. Every layer grew heavier and wetter, and it grew "colder" and "colder" as he tried not to shiver unsuccessfully with every layer he pulled off. He was virtually trembling by the time he pulled off his final t-shirt, exposing his bare chest to the atrocious household temperature of twenty-six degrees Celsius.

He had to hold still for a moment to psych himself into moving to his dresser. "Why is it so fucking cold even though I have a fever?"

_"Your body is learning to stoke its own fires. It will pass shortly."_

Henry nodded absently, too hazed to notice he'd just answered himself as he pulled out another set of clothes. He noted through his blurred thoughts that he was going to have to do laundry soon, lest he be left without clothes, but it was so hard to care while he was feeling poorly.

He made sure to grab his towel this time before he made his way out of his room, and down the hall to the bathroom, clutching his change of clothes to his chest like it was the only barrier between him and the unforgiving "cold" of room temperature. The bathroom door was wide open, so he walked in.

Astrid looked bored sitting on the tub rim as she watched it slowly fill. Still, her ears perked when she heard his feet peel from the linoleum flooring. Henry looked completely addled. Unlike most cases of chilled fevers, his skin was a reddish flush instead of pale, making it seem more like he was covered in an even sunburn.

"It's about time," she hissed, crossing her arms in frustration before turning off the water. No mercy, per the usual.

"Yeah, yeah," he dismissed, setting his clothes on the sink edge and hanging up his towel for easy access. "Thanks for the bath."

Astrid's mouth went dry for half a moment as her eyes grew to the size of saucers, swallowing any responses she had on hold. She was up and in his personal space in an instant, poking him curiously.

"Astrid, could you not," Henry growled when she poked his stomach, causing it tense and suck in sharply. _'Huh? Funny, it doesn't hurt.'_

"Where did your bruise go?" she demanded, giving him another sharp two-fingered jab to his abdomen. He flinched, but gently batted away her hand.

"What are you talking about?" He turned around to face the mirror, doing a double take. "Dear Odin!"

Never mind his missing bruise. Good riddance. Greeting him was a familiar, yet slightly different person. While still scrawny as he'd ever been, there was a new, very fine layer of lean muscle that seemed to have developed just under his skin, adding a thin layer of definition that had him rubbing his eyes to make sure he was awake. "What the Hel?"

"Alright, you know what? You! Get in the bath and start feeling better," Astrid ordered, covering her face in confusion as she moved around him and out the door. "I need to get ready for school, and I don't have time to hold your hand." She closed the door behind her, leaving Henry by himself.

Astrid placed her back to the wall, her lips pursed in confusion as she tried to and failed to make sense of _any_ of that. His bruise was gone. Big whoop! She was trying to make sense of the fact that he had muscle. Actual, noticeable muscle. She'd known him for years, and _that_ was something she'd _never_ seen. Including his back. _Especially_ his back! She tried to remember the last time she'd seen him with his shirt off before giving up entirely. I could have been years for all she knew or cared.

She groaned to herself as she wiped her eyes in sudden exhaustion. "It's probably all the stress from last night," she excused, nodding absently to herself as she walked back to her room to get ready. It was clear she was seeing things.

Meanwhile, Henry eyed the door before looking back the mirror. _'Is she blind?'_ he wondered, eyeing his torso in disbelief. Then it occurred to him. _'Or I'm hallucinating.'_ There was no way he developed any muscle overnight. He was just Henry, a scrawny eighteen-year-old, non-Viking that was just going through some stress. A _lot_ of stress. Dinner last night had been horrible, and he'd been shot at after visiting his favorite bar after drinking _Jörmungandr's_ Venom. Of course!

He was about to turn toward the tub, completely convinced he was imagining it all, when he caught sight of his back. If his torso was anything to write home about, his back was… far more developed. Especially around his shoulder blades.

"This is bullshit," he muttered, blinking hard as if he could will whatever this hallucination was away.

_"It is the state of your muscular mass had it not been frayed. It took the better parts of last night to help you heal. Your welcome."_

He slapped his cheeks, shaking his head as he finally got around to removing his sweatpants and sliding slowly into the tub. The surprise had allowed him to temporarily forget he was sick, but now it came back full force as he lay there unmoving in the _really_ nice water. Before he noticed, he started purring at how comfortable it was. When was the last time he'd soaked in a warm bath? Far too long.

_"Ah! So… waaaaarm."_

His eyes shot open, his eyes looking over toward the door slowly as he processed that he had indeed heard a voice… multiple times now that he thought about it. A familiar voice. A very, _very_ familiar voice.

"Oh no," he lipped, trying and failing to get comfortable again as it finally dawned on him. _'Shit! I'm hearing voices.'_ Not just visual illusions, but auditory ones too. Great. Just fucking great!

The water lapped against the tub sides as he quickly – or as quickly as a sick-addled guy could – scrubbed off, ignoring the lethargic ache in his bones as his body tried to tempt him to his nice and comfortable bed.

"No. If I miss Captain Hildr's training session, that's it! I'm finished!" He wasn't about to test the bounds and limits of that woman's vindictiveness, especially when his father was back in town.

_"You need rest. And _num-nums._ Lots of _num-nums_."_

Henry splashed water in his face, shaking his head as he tried to blink any tiredness from his eyes. "It's all in my head," he stated without an ounce of reassurance. He couldn't be that stressed… could he? He'd finally cracked. Years of resisting people's bullshit, and today was the day it had finally broke him. _Shit!_

It was then that he noticed the bruise on his knee. Or rather, that lack of bruise that had been so familiar. That was it!

He didn't let his new ear worm get in an answer as he exited the bath, unclogging the tub to let it drain before toweling off. He finished by shaking his head rapidly, sending water spray in all directions as a little quiver moved down his spine. He was dressed quickly, immediately hopping out of the bathroom. He bolted steadily for his room, being sure to pick up all his essentials.

_'Phone? Check. Keys? Check. Backpack? Check. Assignment?'_ He rummaged in his backpack. _'Double-check. Glasses? Glasses!'_ He found his glasses on his nightstand, quickly snatching them up and flicking them open before pushing them up his nose. He was about to walk out the door when he blinked heavily, almost stumbling out of his room.

He blinked in confusion, his eyes straining oddly. He pulled off his glasses, rubbing his eyes tiredly with the heel of his hand as he tried to clear any lingering rheum or sleep-crusties from his eyes. He shook his head sleepily before trying again, putting his glasses on his nose again.

_'The Hel?'_

His vision blurred to unrecognizable levels. He pulled off his glasses; his vision felt hawk-sharp. He put the glasses on; it looked like he was opening his eyes under water. He took his glasses off; by the gods, he could see!

He almost cracked up laughing. Unexplainable muscle gain, suppression of former injuries, plus noticeably improved vision! What was next? An instantaneous sense of reflexes and flexibility, strange or abnormal behavior, and then a sense for justice brought about through personal loss?

He snickered to himself. "I'm in the beginning stages of a superhero trope." He tried putting on his glasses again, only to blink and pull them off again, his face changing to complete mortification. "I'm in the beginning stages of a superhero trope," he repeated, now horrified.

"Haddock! Hurry up!"

_That_ brought him out of his confusion and mortification as he quietly put his glasses in his backpack… just in-case. He was banking on temporary insanity and possible psychosomatic stress. He didn't ask "why?" though. All of it converged on when the "fish-guy" had put his hand around his mouth. Henry was still banking on having an unknown drug introduced to his system, as dumb as that sounded. Because the guy had turned into a mummy just afterwards. Yep, something was definitely wrong with this whole situation.

Most would wonder why he didn't share this information with someone else. Because the only people he could actually talk to about this were two of the craziest people he knew, but also gifted natural chemists. Yep, the twins were the only people he could actually talk about this with and _not_ call the authorities to have his head examined. At least they wouldn't pull any punches when it came to what he might have been exposed to.

He could be dying and not even know it. Chances were that as the drug continued to circulate his system, on top of any good, a lot of bad would likely follow. Possibly organ deterioration, weakened immune system, and worst of all, shrinking testicles. All enhancement drugs had negative effects on the well-being of a males manhood, and Henry was willing to bet his marching soldiers were about to face a siege once this drug was done with him. He was already hearing voices; what was losing his assets on top of that.

"Don't think about it," he assured himself. "Don't think about it. Don't think of all the terrible things that could be happening to my mind and body." _'Particularly my sperm-count. Especially my sperm-count. Fuck! I don't want lose my goods before they've even been utilized!'_

He quickly stepped downstairs, noticing rather suddenly that his body wasn't shivering or cold anymore. _'And the good news just keeps coming!'_ he thought sarcastically.

Even as he stepped down, he could feel – literally feel – Astrid's gaze on him as he moved through the kitchen, quickly packing a left-over lunch as he tiredly and miserably moved. "Where's your mom?"

Astrid just shrugged indifferently. "Probably had something come up early." She was quickly in front of him, destroying social boundary once more as she checked his forehead versus his cheek temperature again. "When I said I'd draw a bath so you could sweat out whatever was bugging you, I didn't think you'd take it seriously."

He blinked at her with increased confusion. "I don't follow."

She rolled her eyes, already making her way toward the door. "Your fever's down. Although, I do suppose you had all night to sweat it out."

He blinked again, disliking this more and more the longer it continued. _'I know the gods hate me, but really?!'_ He was suddenly reminded of a particular Katy Perry song involving the back and forth's of opposing temperatures; fitting since the gods just couldn't make up their damned minds. Or maybe it was more like a game of tug-a-war; one side trying to kill him, the other trying to spare him; and somehow he ended up in this unhappy medium range that made it as Hel-ish as possible.

_"The female is perceptive in her care over you. And yet she attacked you this morning? Humans are strange,"_ he heard audibly, whipping around to see if someone else was speaking. _"Still, you are adapting far better than I anticipated. This is good."_

He paled as further confirmation of his insanity ensued. His breath shuttered as he turned back to Astrid, who was busy getting her boots and coat on, unbothered by the voice he'd heard.

"Stop talking to me," he muttered under his breath, just enough for himself to hear. "You're not real."

He felt something like admonition roll through him, causing him to shiver as it was backed up by the sensation of something slither through his neck. _"Then you are just as illusory as I am. Regardless, I prefer to observe your strange human habits for now. Now hush, the female is talking to us."_ Henry frowned in confusion.

"–Hell– Hello?! Haddock?!" He looked back up at Astrid, tapping her foot in irritation with crossed arms. She looked about ready to body slam him with no concern for the fact she wasn't getting to school without him. As luck would have it, she couldn't drive a stick-shift.

"Hmm?" he asked, sounding more spacy than he felt.

"School. Now," she ordered.

"R-right." _'This day couldn't get any weirder… right? __…__…Right?!__'_ Unfortunately, no one was there to answer; god, figment of his imagination or insanity, or tangible human otherwise.

* * *

Something was wrong. Astrid could see that as clear as day. Besides being completely distracted as he drove (Henry was never distracted while he drove), Henry was white knuckling the steering wheel, his eyes darting almost paranoidly across the road as came off Berk Heights. She wondered if it had anything to do last night.

A less-than twenty-four hour cold and fever was a simple and common thing on Berk, especially compared to facing his dad. Stress could do that; and Stoick's visits were always _that_ stress filled. And by the sounds of it, he'd be in town for the next few foreseeable weeks. The only thing that kept her from assuming that Henry was faking it was that she knew him too well; he didn't have a deceitful bone in his body, even when he really… _really_ needed to develop one. He, and his body language, were too honest for his own good. Maybe Heather was right; maybe the Chief had been too harsh on him.

If all these signs hadn't been enough, he had fiddled with the radio until something came on. It didn't appear that he was paying any particular attention to the music playing – some soft-beat rhythm that left the volume too soft to actually hear the lyrics – but it was still noticeable. He _never_ turned on the radio when they were driving. Whatever was bothering him, it required a break in the norm to keep him… well, sorta calm. Or maybe he was thriving on organized chaos? Was that a thing?

Then there were other things. Some of them glaring. Like his bruise disappearing; something that confused and angered her. She'd worked hard (in her mind) to ice that bruise, and now it was just… gone? Also….

"Did you forget your glasses?" she asked, being the one to break their normal cocoon of self-imposed silence. Fortunately, she was able to keep the reprimand out of her tone. She half-cringed at the surprise on his face, knowing that she probably deserved that for ignoring him all the time. If it bothered him though, it didn't show.

"Um, no," he answered after a moment, turning back toward the road with a much more relaxed grip. "They're in my pack. My eyes were acting up today."

She stared at him for a moment before nodding and looking out her passenger window. Yeah, the stress had to be getting to him. When the mind was overburdened, the body suffered. However, she frowned. She'd tried seeing through his eye prescription before, and his vision – for lack of a better term – sucked ass. How the hell was he seeing right now?

Henry however was full-blown panicked. He could see. He. Could. _See_. His eyes were soaking in detail that until now, had eluded him since the beginning of forever. Everything was so… distinct. And clear. And vibrant. It wasn't just detail that made itself known, but it was like he could see _texture_, giving everything a unique sense to it. Blades of grass actually looked "sharp". Pine needles looked like thick needles, with smooth bores and pointed tips like miniature darts. The road didn't just look rough and craggy like asphalt, he could see the light oil blend that condensates to the surface to keep the road from freezing over. It was like he'd been blind by comparison until now.

And it wasn't the only thing that freaked him out.

His ears were particularly focused on the steady _thum-thump_ next to him despite trying to dissuade it with music, acutely aware that he was hearing the pulse of something living. _Someone_ living. Like he was attuning to the very life-blood of someone else. It struck a strangely dark cord within him, stirring some unbidden feeling in his gut and chest that forced him to lodge a growl in his own throat.

And his nose! While he'd always appreciated the old truck smell his vehicle had possessed, right now it was overbearing. And when he tried to find something else to work with, he was immediately met with the focus of his prior sense. Was that… _snn snn_… mint? Juniper? Lemon? Ginger? The Hel! Why was Astrid in his truck?!

_'School! We're going to school!'_ he reminded himself before he had a full-blown panic attack. If he wasn't driving, he'd have banged his head on the steering wheel. _'Gods kill me now!'_

Thankfully he wasn't hearing that other voice in his head. He didn't know if he could bear to have a back-seat thinker making commentary to every little thing he did or said.

How was he supposed to react to this?! He was in full-blown panic! Everything he was feeling he associated to predators stalking, searching for prey. He'd been stalked by Berkian wolves while hunting with Gobber as a child; he was intimately familiar with the feeling they exuded. Only this time, he was the wolf. Why was he the wolf?!

What felt like hours in the span of actual minutes, they finally arrived at school. Finding a parking spot was a struggle as usual with all the double-parking, and a part of him was half-tempted to key some of the vehicles, _just_ to release some pent-up frustration. He wouldn't of course, but the thought was still there. He didn't know what to do about these passive-but-slightly-aggressive thoughts.

"–Hey!"

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt something on his wrist, a lurch in his spine feeling like it would carry him through his pickup door.

_'Oh, it's just Astrid.'_ He was way too on edge.

"Just Astrid" was an understatement. His eyes were seeing her way too clearly. Did her hair always look like spun silk gold? Or her cheeks just so… pinchable? The freckles she'd had as a little girl had faded as she grew up, but somehow seemed to become prominent under his scrutiny. And her eyes; like the most vibrant and solid blue, as if her irises were cut gemstones of crystallized sky.

She crossed her arms as she glared at him. "What? There something on my face?"

_'You could say that,'_ he thought, more than a little stunned as he turned to look at the dashboard. "Just… … thanks for… you know. Being patient today. Or whatever passes for patience on Berk."

He didn't even flinch when her fist socked his shoulder a little extra hard. "Don't be going soft on me Haddock." He looked at her from the corner of his eye, noting the strangely worried look on her face.

And she wasn't used to seeing him so unfocused and distracted. Or vulnerable. He looked like taut bow string about ready to snap. Then there was the strange look in his eye, a soft intensity made the outline of his irises almost… feral… and lost. She wondered if it would be worth the risk to show him compassion, especially after her spiel to Heather last night that it wasn't any of their business. If she could afford to be his friend for a few seconds without dredging up old memories.

"Yeah, sorry," he mumbled, blinking heavily as he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "We should probably get to class."

He was already exiting his pickup before she could find an answer to her own dilemma, and she couldn't do anything but follow. For once, Astrid's initial closing of his truck door was a gentle one, and it showed when it didn't close all the way. She growled as she opened the door back up and pushed it harder, finally getting it to click properly. By the time she looked back up, he was gone, disappearing like a ghost.

…

Henry's initial guess that something was wrong was becoming more and more obvious. As he walked down the halls, the attempts to shoulder him ended one of three ways: he twisted around their attempt, somehow stepping around their attack; he halted half a step, causing them to lose balance as their momentum carried them without the resistance of his shoulder, allowing him to step around them in peace; or he looked them in the eye and they scurried off like mice. It was like he wasn't moving himself, and yet he knew it was him moving. He could feel… no, _sense_… their attempts before they even happened.

_'Note-to-Self: Hyperawareness is a side-effect,'_ he thought. While his initial thoughts about whatever was in his system was obviously positive, the longer it lingered, the more and more worried he became about the potential downsides when he finally crashed. _'And maybe I've started to look like a drug-fiend.'_

For once, he made it to his computer desk unscathed, which meant he was around six minutes earlier than usual. He groaned as he sat back, in his chair, looking at his blank monitor passively. Without anyone present, a little of _him_ glimpsed out. He sniffed as he held back tears, letting the stress of yesterday catch up with him.

All the fear, the nausea, the pain, the relief; just the sense of overwhelming as he finally felt it hit him all at once. He'd been chased, little better than hunted, and shot at. He was walking around with something in his system that for all he knew, was a biological contagion thank to whatever that "fish guy" had put over his mouth. Oh yeah, and that same "fish guy" had turned into a mummy. He'd been sick and recovered in the span of a night, his bruises were gone, and his senses were working overtime. On top of all that, the familiar sense of pain he'd become accustom to over the course of his life, was gone. His muscles weren't sore. If anything, his body felt like a hundred-and-twenty percent.

To top it off with a cherry, he was hearing voices in his head.

And he had no idea how or why.

"What's happening to me?" he shuddered, swallowing heavily at how overwhelmed he was. He couldn't even begin to think about telling anyone about the Black-Ops, not with so much already weighing down on him.

_"Henry!"_

He yelped, shooting from his seat as he turned frantically around, a wild look in his eye as he tried to find the source of his misery. He shot up too quickly, tripping over the chair before falling back, his turn causing him to spin as he did so. The last thing he noticed was a bright flash of pain, before all he saw was dark.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

The night of, and the beginning of, Henry's first day with his… carry-on buddy. More to follow.

I know his reaction might be very _very_ different from what one might expect, but that's part of Henry's denial. He doesn't know how to handle all of it, especially when it's all compounded into less than a day: constant strain, dinner with his dad, getting shot at, being invaded by a parasite, thinking he's been hit with some sort of drug, getting sick, hearing voices. All while trying to keep from going crazy. It's a lot of stuff for anyone to take in.

If you have any QCC's (Questions, Comments, Concerns; respectfully), let me know via Private Messaging or Review. Any and all questions pertaining to future chapters, characters, etc. is subject to the SPOILERS! clause 9 section 24b of Form B-36.

That being written, please indulge my curiosity and let me know what parts you guys liked, what parts need work, and overall what you guys think about it :D _Fury_ is more or less in a Rough Draft phase, so I'll be editing it every now and again to implement improvements.

Don't forget to Review, and I'll read ya guys next time with Fury - Chapter 8 _"Assimilating Part II"_


	9. Chapter 8: Assimilating Part II

**A/N: **Hey guys! SteinMon here! Sorry if it's been a while. I did some editing on the previous chapter, specifically at the end. I felt it was a little too soft after I'd already posted it, so if you guys are going to continue with this chapter, I recommend a quick refresher on the last one, since Chapter 7 flows directly into this one. Other than that, all good!

_**Trigger**_** Warnings: **Implications of psychological/emotional trauma, and one undesired sexual pursuit. Not necessarily in that order.

I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I _am_ here to learn. That being said, I also respond to Reviews.

_**Review Responses:**_

\- vangian13: I know. But life unfortunately doesn't let me update regularly, so I write when I can, edit when I can, and post when I can. :( As for that "catharsis"... stay tuned.

\- bigbrewer: It's okay. I'm not great at feedback either :D

\- "SunnySides": To quote the invading parasitic mass, _"It is the state of your muscular mass had it not been frayed..."_ Maybe nothing so embarrassing as eating raw meat, but you can't not have a situation like this without something embarrassing happening.

\- "No Account": Ah, _Skillet_. While one of my initial choice of songs for this, I'm actually still looking at other songs that encompass the complete nature of what is happening. Luckily, Youtube has no shortage of songs to throw at me. :D

\- Midsully: While "Suppressed" gunshots _is_ the technical term, "Silenced" gunshots are actually a thing, not just widely acknowledged. Its just a matter of having the proper material to absorb the sound recoil and powder gas expulsion and discharge. It's not unheard of (ha, I just did a funny), just difficult and in many cases, expensive. The only thing you can't actually "silence" is the bullet itself, which is why it was generally accompanied by the _whiz_ (of a heated bullet cutting through colder air) and _crack_ (of bullet impacting trees). SCIENCE! XD

\- ghostpost: The biggest glaring flaw is my update schedule? Good to know. :D

\- Anonymous Noob the 2nd: We'll see ;)

\- The Faithful Servant: I don't regularly update, but I update when I _can_. Life in general kind of prevents it, and I spend a lot of time editing. Plus I'm working on another story simultaneously, so it kind of shifts back and forth.

\- Andria Rainbolt: Yay! Thanks!

\- Dragonholic: XD

\- Atarious: Maybe. Maybe not. Read to find out ;)

\- "Guest": Well... here's the next chapter!

\- Xernak: Yah. My "there's" have been slipping for a little while. Oops. X)

I would also comment that taste in music is generally "imprinted" by everyone that uses it in their stories, but more importantly, I would ask when or where "Mr. Brightside" or "Wonderwall" would fit into the story? I've listened to both frequently enough, and I don't see or "feel" either of them in any scenes that have transpired (Unless those were just examples, but even then...)

On that note, rest assured that I don't just pick music at random. I dredge the internet (*cough, cough* _Youtube_) for songs that not only fit the lyrics, but the tempo and beat of a scene. Unfortunately, I can't help the music you prefer, and can only use the music I deem capable of capturing exactly what is happening in the moment, whether or not _I_ actually like the song in question (because I _do_ use songs I don't necessarily like, but they fit, so I use them). Whether or not it is considered "good" is ultimately up to the listener. So for that, I can only apologize so sincerely before it ceases to be meaningful to either of us.

\- Scrumblenut: I hope you like it then! X)

\- Umbra Lycan: Good to know (*doesn't know how to make a **Thumb's Up** emoji with the keyboard, so just writes "**Thumb's Up**"*)

\- "Eris": Here's that update! :)

\- Aurastar Warrior: Right here!

***End of Responses**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person. Also, the song I used in this one isn't specified so, I'm adding it up here. It's _Citizen Soldiers "Weight of the World"_, I recommend giving it a listen or two just for that moment.

I would also like to point out that I don't own any media that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story. Any topics or subjects (military and occupational) that come up are _not_ from a professional stand-point, but are written with as much knowledge I could garner through research, common sense, and from friends and acquaintances with experience in those matters. I may have also watched some YouTube :P

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

Chapter 8: Assimilating Part II

He watched and felt his new host's blundering and knock-out with a deadpanned expression, grumbling at his hosts clumsy feet and lack of spacial awareness. Evidently, connecting to his hosts audio receptors had not been the most inspired of ideas. His conclusion: humans startled far too easily.

Evidently, his host would need a more… practical demonstration of _their_ status, even if auditory communication was unavoidable. Speaking of which, his host – this _Henry_ – would be waking soon. Humans were far too fragile for their own good. It's fall had left a decent cut from the desk edge in its head. The bleeding had been staunched instantly once he'd knitted the hosts flesh back together. If it was this accident prone, he'd have his work cut out for him.

While he'd been initially impressed with his hosts adaptations and adjustments, he supposed it was to be expected that their unorthodox predicament would not be wholly anticipated to the host. Humans weren't that perceptive of their own bodies. Still, the minor adjustments he'd made were revealing a lot about his host.

Still yet, he was intrigued with his observations so far. Evidently, his host and the human female were something like den mates. It was also clear that their den held at least one other, the female's nurturer he believed. The female's blatant physical abuse was also not out of harm… mostly… but some human varying degree of endearment it would seem. It would also appear that while fierce, both his host and the female had relevant regards for one another, though he could not determine to what extent that was. They were too… confusing when together. Almost contradictory. What did the humans call it? Oh right! A "Love-Hate Relationship". _Very_ contradictory.

But he was willing to find out. After all, he liked the female's spirit. Attacking his host in its nest had been nothing short of delightful.

Still, his host had mixed regards for her, and she for it. Intervention wasn't a choice at the moment, given how weak he was. Best to recover for now.

Huffing, he curled around the warm _thump-thump_. _'Troublesome humans.'_ Then there was this strange gathering place for all the pubescent morsels. For the most part, they all stank of hormones and some strange odor. Overall, they were unappetizing. Not to mention unnecessarily hostile to his host. It would seem his host was something of a "runt", though given the deterioration of its physicality, this appeared to be something more… inflicted than natural. If they didn't smell like shit, he'd crack open some bones and slurp on the marrow… but evidently humans frowned on that sort of thing. Or screamed. Lovely screams. Best not give himself away prematurely while he recovered, even if they deserved it. There would be plenty of time to eat them as long as he and his host laid low for the time being.

_If_ his host could lay low.

Now if only he could contact his host without risking brain damage and emotional breakdowns. _Their_ mutual survival depended on it, mostly because his hosts body was uncooperative and wouldn't let him assume full and absolute control, just jerky pulses, and its intelligent mind was too stubborn to quietly die. Nope. But it was still too good to pass up despite the… setbacks.

Now if only the Henry-meat-bag would wake up. Sooner rather than later would be preferred.

* * *

_Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap._

_'Ow,'_ he groaned internally, more out of reflex than actual pain. Come to think of it, his head was surprisingly pain-free. But he felt so… drained, and tired, and… what was he doing before now? When was now?

_Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap._

His eyes glared open, finding a large meaty hand gently patting his cheek in rapid bursts. "Henry?! Henry?! Oh gods, please wake up! I don't want to be the one to tell Misses Hofferson that you died in the computer lab! She'll kill me!" There was a short pause of dawning realization. "Astrid will kill me." _Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap._ "Henry. Henry! Wake up! Please wake up! I don't want to be disemboweled before I've even graduated! I have years of service isolated on a ship to look forward to!"

Henry looked over to see a familiar face. He tried to sit up but was immediately met with discomfort. "Oh! Thor!"

"Um, no! It's just Fred," the blonde boy said with a blush to his cheeks.

"No that's not- You know what? Nevermind." He groaned limply plopping back down on the ground. He absently rubbed his head, knowing he should be feeling some sort of ache where he swore he'd hit the desk. He looked over at the desk in question, blinking in surprise when he saw a splatter of blood on the edge. "Um, Fred… am I bleeding?"

Fred looked at him funny before looking up at the desk edge Henry was looking at. His eyes widened before he grabbed ahold of Henry's head, flopping it this way and that with little regard to Henry's shock or discomfort as he looked for the apparent wound. "Oh gods! Oh gods! Henry! I'm not seeing it! I'm not seeing it! Why aren't you bleeding!"

"Isn't that a good thing?" he drawled sarcastically.

"Not if there's blood on the desk!" Fred practically shrieked before he looked wide-eyed at Henry. "That is _your_ blood… right?"

"Whose else would it be?" Henry asked with weird look before it hit him. "Wait a second. What are you implying?"

"I don't know!" Fred exclaimed as he began muttering while walking in circles. "You could have murdered someone! Deflowered a virgin! Hematidrosis!"

Henry started coughing as spittle went down the wrong tube. "De… flowered… a what?!" Yep. Priorities.

"It could happen?!"

Henry was _not_ amused. "And the odds of that happening?"

Fred's fingers moved back and forth in calculation. "Taking into account the rate of unsullied women in the Archipelago, the odds of that are–" He was cut off by Henry raising a hand.

"Nope! I don't want the odds of me getting some. Let's talk more about the probability that I murdered someone. That seems more likely."

"Weeeell–"

"I was being facetious! Don't _actually_ answer that!" Henry exclaimed, wiping a hand across his face before he pushed himself to his feet.

_"You fell and hit your head. But don't worry. I fixed your head."_

Henry froze, turning around slowly with wide eyes as his breath began to pick up. "What?"

"I didn't say anythi– Henry? Are you alright?" Fred asked, looking over his friend with interest.

_"Well, by "fixed your head" I mean "healed your wound." Not "stopped talking to you". Now, who is this… enlarged lipid-infused morsel? It doesn't seem _too_ threatening. Can I eat it later?"_

"Please tell me you're hearing that," Henry muttered, looking absolutely terrified.

Fred shook his head softly. "I'm not hearing anything," he said in concern. The lumbering teen quickly picked up the chair Henry had tripped over and settled it behind his friend, allowing Henry to plop down in shock. He quietly took a seat opposite of him, growing uncharacteristically serious. "What's wrong?"

_'Can I trust him? I could be going nuts! Only the twins would believe me!'_ he thought. But he'd been friends with Fred since middle school. If anyone wouldn't immediately call for a straight-jacket, it would be him.

"I-I think I'm going crazy," he admitted, his voice trembling.

_"No! Don't tell future food about me! That is a bad idea!"_

For Fredrick's part, he didn't look amused. That was among the many things that Henry appreciated about him. He wasn't pushing it off as a joke. He was watching Henry intently, his thinner lips pursed in thought and seriousness. "What makes you think that?"

_"I swear to stars! Don't answer! I do not have the mass to protect us both if this goes wrong!"_

"I-I'm hearing voices in my… well… _one_ voice, in my head," Henry answered, looking around as though he was looking to see tangible evidence of the voice in question. "It's not mine, and it's certainly no one I know. For all I know it's fucking Loki." He wiped his face with his hands again, eyes wide as he breathed, his shoulders and chest feeling lighter already… but also heavier in their own way. Admitting it was real was a weight of its own; an acknowledgement of its hold.

_"Great. Just great. Now the morsel knows."_

Fred looked at Henry intently. It wasn't a joke. Henry's face and expressions and mannerisms were anything but. But he took a deep breath to reorient his thoughts, doing his best to convey his attention to him. "When did it start?"

"Um…." Henry tried to remember exactly when it started. "… Last night. Around eight… I think." _'About the time I was being shot at.'_

Fred nodded in thought. "And it's not stress related?"

_"No. It's me. But there _were_ bad _pew-pews_. So there _was_ lots and lots of stress. Hmm… Perhaps we should have eaten the bad _pew-pews_."_

Henry silently agreed... with most of that, opening and closing his mouth in contemplation. He hadn't considered that possibility yet. "Maybe. I don't know! I'm so confused."

Fred placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Does anyone else know?"

"I haven't told anyone else," Henry admitted. He couldn't say what else was bothering him. Not yet. He had abs now? His eyesight was not only "fixed", but beyond perfect? He was possibly the Patient Zero for an unethically induced drug-trial gone wrong, and whatever was in it might have done irreparable damage to his brain and sperm-count. "I was also going to talk to the twins, since they're more chill with this kind of stuff. Honestly, I was just kinda hoping it would stop on its own, but… it's like someone is speaking directly in my ear."

_"Actually, I'm connected to your auditory-neural synapses. Your brain's translation matrix just _perceives_ it as though I'm right next to you."_

Fred nodded in understanding. "Alright. Are you free tomorrow?"

"Uh… tomorrow is Saturday… I might have work… and I need to buy groceries for Heather," Henry stated as he mentally went through his schedule. Voice in his head be damned, he had shit to do! If he was going crazy, he was going to be functioning crazy person!

"Good," Fred stated, patting him on the shoulder again. "Tomorrow. You, me, and the twins are going to hang. If you want to talk about it, then we'll be there to listen, _away_ from prying ears. All of us. If this is scaring you this much, then we'll help however we can. You know we will."

Henry didn't know he had been holding his breath until it released, along with… oh shit! He was crying in relief. "Th-Thanks."

_"Um, human, you are leaking from the face! Is that normal?! Are you breaking?! I don't know how to fix it!"_ If Henry wasn't having an emotional crisis, he might have thought his new headspace was funny. And why did it feel like his chest was lurching this way and that? It was kind of nauseating.

Fred nodded, still looking serious. Thor, it was a weird look on him. "Can you make it through today?"

"I-I think so," Henry nodded, breathing a lot easier. Just as quickly as he felt panic, it was gone. So that's what having friends was like. People to confide in when he was sure he was breaking apart at the seams. "If not, I think the odds of me committing murder might increase significantly."

_"Only if there are no _num-nums_. It's either that, or I begin snacking on your kidney. You only need one of those, right?"_ Henry's smile faltered at that. _'Da faq?!'_

A smirk tugged its way across Fred's face as he sat down. "We need one day. That's all the wait we need, okay?"

Henry nodded, swallowing as he subconsciously rubbed the spot where he knew he'd hit his head. Not even a mark. Whatever was going on, he hoped it was a simple matter to take care of.

_"Well now you've done it,"_ his new tenant grumbled. _"I don't get enough_ num-num's_ to deal with this. If bad _pew-pews_ end up coming for us because of this, I _will_ bite off their heads, rip out their bones, consume all their lingering nutrients, and throw whatever is leftover in a corner. Then eat you out of spite for being stupid. I hope trusting the enlarged morsel is potentially worth our freedom."_

_'O-kay! Gruesome.'_

Henry didn't answer, not wanting to make this any weirder for Fred as they both turned to their respective computers to work. Telling someone that you were hearing a voice in your head wasn't a light subject to broach. It was heavy. The more people who knew, the lighter it would be for him… but like any distributed weight, you still shared a portion of it with others, making it heavier for them. Then again, there was always the chance that anyone he told actually would think he was crazy. People tended to be judgmental and quick to label like that.

Plus… _it_ was saying some outlandish and rude stuff that Henry didn't feel comfortable sharing, even on his greatest days.

Despite his best efforts however, neither side of his brain could focus on anything. And despite his best efforts, he couldn't get that last warning out of his head. Whatever was wrong with him, or whatever he was hearing, it was almost… concerned for him… or itself… or whatever that defined itself as with his crumbling sanity. But it also threatened to eat him. That still didn't explain the physical changes though.

He was missing something critical.

_'Just last 'til tomorrow, Henry,'_ he encouraged himself. There was a time-frame. It gave him something to cling to, if only out of desperation. It didn't mean he'd be able to focus on his work.

… … …

_Lunch…_

"This was a bad idea," Henry stated.

"This is a great idea," Fred replied, unaffected.

_"I concur with the enlarged morsel you have confided in. Scouting the food is always a great idea. We'll make a list by order of least nutritious to most nutritious."_

They were once again sitting in the cafeteria, awaiting whatever eventual abuse was bound to come – because trust, it would come – and Henry felt… hungry. Not in any gut-clenching kind of way; he'd already finished his packed lunch, and leftovers had spared him _some_ stink-eye. Whenever he caught someone glaring at him, he unconsciously glared back, causing them to whip away in start.

No. It was a different kind of hunger. Not quite directed at food, but not quite directed at anything else. It was confusing. His eyes were still soaking in so much detail, every flutter of clothing, every crease, wrinkle, edge. The texture differences was… amazing. But his ears were what clocked over-time. Being around all these people, and all he heard was the telltale _thump_ing of multiple heartbeats. Just like in the pickup.

It wasn't "hunger". It was… "excitement", like a wolf in the middle of a sheep pen; like he was hungry, and there were so many tasty morsels to choose from. To _play_ with. It set the back of his neck prickling. He felt like an exposed nerve, just waiting to be poked.

_"Interesting. I opened up the synaptic responses to the deeper instinctive part of your brain by at least twenty to twenty-five percent to see how you would react to varies stimuli, but this is… curious. Full systematic cognition and control, and yet, also diminished by prior interaction and general appall at the implication of predatorial superiority."_

Henry didn't know what that meant… well, he got the cerebral implication of it… but he didn't understand what that had to do with anything. All these people – this entire cafeteria – should have made him feel nervous.

_'Then why do I feel like I'm the one looking for a victim?'_ he wondered, cocking his head slightly as he instinctively began homing in on varies heartbeats. Hyperawareness was… both cool, and utterly terrifying. _'Oh, this is creepy! Is this what lycanthropy or vampirism feels like? Homing in on everyone's pulses like I'm looking to sink my teeth int–'_

"Are you okay Henry?" Henry turned to see Fred looking at him intently. "You look kind of out of it. Is… _it_ talking again?" The last part he covered his mouth and whispered, being sure not to let anyone else hear.

_"There's no need to whisper, large morsel. I can hear you just fine."_

Henry nodded, gaze shifting rapidly as his hearing found a new "victim" to audibly stalk. "And other things," he murmured.

A tray clattering at their near empty table, forcing Henry's senses to snap back into place, causing him to jerk away from the sound. "Oh, hey Tuff."

_"Wait. Who is this?"_

"Holy Loki, H, you look like someone has a cattle prod to your back," Tuff stated as he took a seat. "Not that I'd know what that feels like. But that would be interesting! I wonder if my sister would do it."

"Hey Tuff," Fred greeted cheerily, before his mood turned dower. "Do you have a second?"

"Why do I get the feeling that someone's chicken died?" Tuff asked, looking between them curiously before frowning sorrowfully. "Tell me no one's chicken died."

_"What is "Chicken"? Is it tasty?"_

"No one's chicken died. Are you and your sister free tomorrow?" Fredrick asked, to which Henry was grateful. With Fred mediating a plan, Henry was trying his best to ignore the blaring voice right in his ear.

"I think so," Tuff stated, flopping his chin onto the table, glaring levelly at his yak-wich. "It's so boring! All that _free-time_ I can spend… blowing stuff up. But sis and I ran out of firecrackers and flashbangs are illegal outside of authorized combat. Not that we haven't set a couple off. Ugh!"

"Good. We're hanging out. All of us," Fred stated, causing Tuff to perk up.

"What happened?" Tuff stated, suddenly sitting up straight in his seat.

"Who said anything happened?" Fred asked, that nervous lilt making its way back into his voice.

"Because the only time we "hang" is when something is wrong," Tuff stated, his angled jaw clenching. "The last time was when… mom used… Bjorn-boar… for the _Sno-gg-le-tog ham_," he sobbed, all those forgotten emotions coming back with whiplash force befitting of a Thorston.

_"This human is… not alright in the head."_

_'Did my personal headspace really just say that?'_ Henry wondered. Simultaneously…

"Hey, easy Tuff," Henry comforted, half his mind ignoring his brain-buddy, patting Tuff on the hand. "He was an older pig. He didn't have very much time on him, so at least he went out with his hooves on, kicking, squealing, and swinging his tusks like the Viking boar he was." Henry winced. _'Not my best pep-talk.'_

_"What is "Boar"? The part of your brain you associate with thoughts of food is lighting up like a storm cloud! Can I eat it?"_

_'Ignore it, Henry,'_ Henry ordered himself, having to breath carefully.

Tuff sniffed as he blinked his eyes clear of tears. "Yeah, there is that at least. Plus he tasted good, so he had that going for him." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, blinking between his friends. "So who are we standing behind Shield-Brother?"

"Not here. Not now," Fred leaned forward, looking back and forth between the patrons of the school cafeteria pointedly.

For all his short-sighted impulsiveness, Tuff was sharp when you needed him to be. He nodded with no further questions; the face of a Saboteur. "Very well." Then he leaned forward, whispering quietly. "_Hail Sithis_."

"Walk with the shadows," Henry whispered reflexively, before half-chuckling at his slip.

Fred groaned, facepalming at them. They all chuckled lightly.

_"I'm beginning to think that you humans aren't meant to be understood."_

"Come on, Fred, you kno–" Henry's smile faded as his neck prickled in warning.

"Hey Babe." _'Oh, it's just Snot again. What was I ever worried about?'_ Well that wasn't jinxing anything. Not at all.

"Go bother someone else Jorgenson! No one is in the mood today!" _'And Astrid. Ah! Food _and_ entertainment. How thoughtful.'_

"Henry, we should go," Fred whispered urgently, their conversation forgotten. "We don't want a repeat of yesterday."

As if the gods themselves had cursed them – or in Henry's case, continued the long-tired triage of curses ensued – Sheep-Face and Dogsbreath seated themselves on both sides of Henry, Dog shoving Fred out of the way. Let it be noted that they were the ones wounded yesterday, and had wisely volunteered to pin down their main target, lest they be stricken in some other way shape or form.

_"This… is not good, but it may be unavoidable. You attract too much unwanted attention. How have you survived this long?"_

_'Thank you, headspace. I was trying to get boxed in like my lunch,'_ he thought back sarcastically.

"Beat it Tubby," Dogsbreath barked at Fred.

"Bad Dog!" Tuff growled back, pulling out a squirt bottle full of water in one hand, and a green beanbag in the other to throw.

Henry felt as wound as a spring coil sitting between his captors. Every hair on his arm and neck was bristled for the beating he knew was coming sooner or later. Probably not a good thing if he was tense when it happened. Harder to roll with the punches that way.

"Afternoon, gentlemen," he stated indifferently, despite the distinct feeling of bundled pacing irritation he felt move back and forth in his chest almost tangibly. "Snotlout, I thought I told you yesterday not to put anyone off their lunch."

_"I see now why you were covered in contusions. You are literally asking to be struck. But I suppose protecting your nest-mate and the small flock of females with her from thee… _snn-snn_… advances of this… lesser creature is a worthy cause."_

_'Ignoring _that_!'_ Henry countered.

"Shut up, Hiccup! There's no Dagur to save you today," Snotlout snapped across the cafeteria.

Henry raised a querying brow. "I wasn't assuming he'd show up yesterday. Not that it wasn't a welcome surprise. How long were you guys left standing at attention anyway?"

The whole cafeteria bristled in pure hatred as he brought it up. Of course, he chose to bask in their rage like a proper troll… videogame "troll"… not sock-stealing "troll"… although a sock-stealing "troll" is technically a "troll"… and vice versa. _'Oh gods, what am I thinking? Why am I thinking it? And why do I feel like a genius?'_ half of him wondered passively in tangent.

"Butt out Haddock." He looked over in surprise to see Astrid outright fuming. "This is two days in a row, and I'm keen to break some arms."

_"I like your nest-mate. She is fierce when riled."_ Evidently his brain buddy was in agreement.

He saw Ruff look at him with a raised eyebrow, mouthing, "_Did. You. Feed. Her?_" He shook his head, causing Ruff to slap a hand to her face in exasperation before glancing over sourly at Boar, who was once again sitting too close to Heather for her own comfort, leaning away from him in disgust.

"Calm down Babe," Snot said chilly. "The boys are just a little mad and need to blow off some steam. Let's say you and me go for a walk while they work. Your friends are allowed to come too."

"Yeaahh," Ruff drawled. "After that "herd" comment yesterday, I'm officially gonna hafta say "no"."

"Same," Heather nodded, only to jerk when Boar got a little touchy on her thigh.

"It's okay," Boar smirked slyly, "we don't bite."

Henry felt his pulse thrum in his ears, one hand gripping under the table as though he were about to pick it up and throw it. He felt his fingers tensing accordingly even as his sweet new eyes began measuring just _how_ to throw it so no one else was hit. Something slithered underneath his skin, itching like crazy, but he ignored it, along with Sheep-Face and Dogsbreath on either side.

_"Well excrement."_

If he'd paid much mind to anything in that moment, he would've noticed the scowl on Tuff's face, and the bear-like glare on Fred's face.

Nevermind that he'd promised Dagur that he'd look after his little sister, scrawny bean pole or not. Nevermind he wasn't strong enough to _actually_ pick up the table. He was going to pulverize that bastard or die trying, then he was going to get Dagur involved so he could watch as the Berserker tore him limb from bloody fucking limb! A low growl caught in his throat as he prepared to heave.

_Crack!_

It was distinctly satisfying – as in, a shiver of pure, unadulterated pleasure crawled down his spine – when Astrid vaulted the table just to send a thrusted heel kick into Boar's mouth, knocking him out of his chair. It was like watching jello bounce as the larger Viking timbered to the floor. There was blood. Lots of blood. And teeth flying. Multiple teeth.

"Touch her again you pig, and I'll break every bone in your hand!" Astrid hissed, scooting off the table, but not before giving him a solid kick to the knee. If Boar wasn't wailing before, he was now, hands positioned between his mouth and knee; needing to hold, coddle, and inspect both wounds, but too afraid to aggravate or prioritize either, even as blood and saliva dribbled down his chin.

_'Gods it's great when Astrid isn't mad at me.'_ Where was a camera when he needed it?

For once, Henry appreciated Viking excessiveness and its uses in a society of "red-blooded" Neanderthals. It was a bonus that Astrid pulled it off flawlessly. Survival of the Fittest never looked better. Any fight a Viking started; they'd best be prepared to finish it. And have a lot of allies backing them up while they did it. Boar clearly had none of these at the moment.

_"Yes. I like her a lot. Is it too much to ask that she hit the weak enlarged morsel again?"_ Again, agreement. Even if he was crazy to agree with the voice in his head, he was technically already going 'round the bend, so no harm done.

His grip under the table laxed, unknown to him that five punctures were prodded where his fingertips had been situated.

"Well," Henry said with a clap, reconstituting himself as he stood from his seat, "it's been fun. Really, it has. But I've been _officially_ put off my lunch, so if you'll excuse me…."

"Sit!" Sheep ordered, a hand gripping Henry's shoulder to push him back down.

The moment he felt the unwanted contact, something shot through his body. A familiar, half-coordinated lurch that warped through his arm. He snatched the hand from his shoulder, twisting backwards as he stepped away from his seat, leaving Sheep-Face squealing in Henry's chicken-wing hold.

"Uncle! Uncle!" he shrieked, slapping his hand on the table, his face already red in heavy breathing and pain.

Henry blinked, and let go of him, letting out a startled breath. _'What the fuck?'_ He hadn't even comprehended his movements until after it had already been made.

Sheep pulled away, cradling his arm as he looked at Henry with all the pained hate he could muster. "What the fuck?!" he cried, unsure what else to say.

Henry, ever one with a quick comeback, immediately countered, "I believe you once told me, "Pain is weakness leaving the body". You said that while you were punching me repeatedly in third year, so…" he leaned over slightly with a grimace of pity, and with a touch whispered finesse, "…bye weakness." _'AAAAAHHHHH! What am I doing?!'_

_"Stars, you are precious,"_ his brain buddy chuckled with a soft warble. _"Now, step in while he's still weak."_ Yep. Listening to the voice in his head. That never goes well, even if the advice was sound.

Capitalizing on Sheep-Face's "weakness" as it were, Henry took a solid step forward as suggested, even as Sheep took a step back in, half-scrambling over the seating to do so.

_Shhhhk!_ his hackles warned.

Henry didn't have time to think as he spun, simultaneously palming away an outreaching hand and forcing some distance as he backed away. He blinked again, confused why he moved suddenly, until he saw Dogbreath's lifted hand twitch. "Quit dancing Tinker Bell."

"Wow, I felt that, right…" Henry tapped his chest lightly "…here. It hurt. Honestly."

_"Did it? I wasn't aware your pain-receptors were going off!_

_"Oh, you were being "sarcastic" as you humans say. Well played."_

The Dog rushed, going low hoping to body slam him.

_"Go low."_ He could feel a toothy grin bubbling inside of him as he slid to one knee. He powered under Dog's torso, pushing off the ground and throwing him over his shoulder, using the larger boy's momentum as a fulcrum to lift him off his feet. Dog hit the ground back first, eyes painfully wide, wheezing out as all air left him.

Henry breathed in disbelief. "Tyr's missing arm," he huffed, looking at the stunned Viking he'd just slammed like he'd just shit gold. "I-I did it?"

The elation didn't last long when he noticed the number of eyes looking at him. Tens of pairs, each one as wide in disbelief as his own. He wanted to look up, to see how his friends saw him, but he was scared too. _That_… that was a first. He'd never fought back before if he could help it. He'd rolled with the punches, taken his share of hits, and survived. This was amazing… and terrifying… no matter how he thought about it. Just enough of a confidence booster to actually appreciate how his body had reacted, but enough of a shock to counter just how quickly he'd dismantled both offenses against him. How quickly he'd achieved a flawless victory.

"I… I need to go," he said weakly, turning to leave. Anyone who potentially stood in his way parted to give him space, like he'd contracted a disease. He needed to leave. To detach from the situation, before something worse happened.

_"Wait! Where are you going? We were winning!"_

"Where the Hel are you going, Hiccup?!"

_'Not now Snot!'_ He couldn't move fast enough to extract himself, already moving into the halls. Locker after locker passed, and he didn't feel any closer to being removed from the situation.

"Get back here Useless!" Snot was following him. No. The whole cafeteria was following, as if it were about to see the premiere of the most entertaining movie about to happen. Shit! "You think you're so tough. That you're _so_ special!"

_'Back to the old nickname are we?'_ he wanted to quip, but it wouldn't do any good even if he did.

"Snot, back off." Astrid? Astrid had followed. No. No stopping. He really needed to get away. Now! He'd deal with her complaining to him later. Right now, he just needed to escape.

_Bum-bum! Bum-bum! Bum-bum!_

The sound of pulsing, pumping, pounding blood was getting louder in his ears. Was it theirs? No. It was his.

"Why are you defending him, princess?" Snot shot back. Two of his cronies were down. He was emotionally backed into a corner, now that his favorite punching bag was beginning to punch back. What else did he have but to punch it into submission with words and slanders? But all it took was the right button, and he'd clearly been keeping this one on the back burner for a special occasion. "At least none of us killed our mom!"

It felt like something heavy and liquid smacked into his ribs from whiplash as he ground to a stop, his mind suddenly blank from shock. The _thump_ of his heartbeat fell suddenly silent, and from it, the tick of a particularly volatile instinct began to shriek to life, growing louder by the second.

_"Oh no."_

The gathering crowd of students held their breath, clearly not expecting such a turn of events. Already the whispers started among them, fueled by the island's innate love of gossip, and the pure deadly nature of those words in general. By the end of the day, not a student on Berk would be ignorant of the stand-off happening here. By tomorrow, their parents would know. By weeks end, the whole island would have heard about it. By the end of the month, it would be surprising if it hadn't reached the whole bloody Archipelago. But what did that matter? It wasn't like everyone was ignorant to the actual events in the first place. They just liked having something to talk about.

"Simon!" Astrid snapped out in disbelief, finally shoving her way to the front of the crowd, watching as Henry's loose hands clenched into a pale fist, his back still facing them. "That's enough!"

"What?" Simon smirked victoriously now that he had finally gotten under Henry's skin. No. Worse. He'd found the biggest, sharpest insult he could find, and jabbed it into Henry's chest. And twisted. He'd won this battle! He had retaken control! "It's true. If it wasn't for him, his mom would still be alive. He knows it. And his _dad_ knows it. I'm just stating the facts, Astrid."

"I swear to Odin Snot-head! Shut! Up!" she hissed, unable to keep the pure malice from her voice. _'One more thing, Snot! Say one! More! Thing!'_

Astrid watched as Henry turned. Slowly. As though he was still processing what he had heard. His lips were quivering in barely sequestered rage, and his green eyes glimmered with unfallen tears. He believed it. It was written all over his face. He believed every word. Oh gods. She just wanted to run over and hold him. No one deserved that, least of all when it wasn't _anyone's_ fault.

But there was something else too. Something almost fluid in his stance that set Astrid on edge. His fist opened, but his fingers remained tense. And that familiar look in his eyes she'd seen this morning. Something that held a singular, deadly focus as his pupils shrunk to the size of pinheads and caused his green irises to shine venomously. "Murderous" wasn't the term she'd use.

"Feral". "Feral" was the more accurate word. Like a wild animal in a cage that had been poked and prodded several too many times, and it was ready to lash out.

The opposite of the Henry she knew. That Henry was controlled, calm, collected. He knew all the buttons to push. Knew how to redirect everyone's focus and attention with nothing more than a properly stated phrase… or half a cough. He could completely change a mood with just a few simple words. He was kind, intelligent, analytical, inventive, a smart aleck, and a royal pain in the ass. He'd cook, give her study guides, provide subtle encouragement, and piss her the Hel off.

This one looked ready to go off like a stick of dynamite. Half a glance from his eyes felt like he was tangibly suffocating you, like his normally small and thin hands were wrapped around your throat and squeezing out every last drop of life with no regard for mercy. Almost like he'd tear her apart as soon as look at her. Against her better judgment, it caused every fostered and developed soldiering instinct in her to recoil with a violent shiver down her spine.

This Henry… this one scared her.

The deadliest instincts were drawn out when one was desperate and enraged. And right now, Henry was both.

"_Shut_. _Up_." Henry had finally spoken, and it trembled softly with the barest hint of a growl, his voice cutting the air like a blade. The hallway began to grow hot and stuffy, smelling distinctly like ozone, and the arm hairs of every person present standing at rigid attention. The feeling itself held all the weight of an impending summer thunderstorm. All they were waiting for was to see _who_ the lightning would strike.

Simon just smirked, "Make me." He was a bigger idiot than Astrid gave him credit for if he couldn't read even _this_ situation. It was blaringly obvious that more button pushing wasn't under advisement.

"_Fine!_" Henry spat with a growl. "_Don't say you didn't ask for it_." Henry was already marching forward, moving with such intensity that time seemed to bend around him, making him appear faster than he really was. Simon barely blinked, and Henry was there in front of him, his arm cocked back.

For Henry's part, he swung with all his might, too angry to think properly. His healed muscles flew unrestricted by pain, and unassisted by the lurch he'd felt before. It was nothing but his natural strength and burning anger in a single strike, unencumbered.

Left fist, meet Snot.

Henry felt nothing but adrenaline and the slow-motion thrum of his heartbeat when his knuckles finally made impact. Snot looked as shocked as everyone else, his head turning back into place to look at his assaulter, the side of his jaw already swelling where Henry had hit him. Then his body played catch-up as his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he crumpled like a marionette that had its strings cut with a _flop_. No come-back, no half-delirious dialogue with his non-present mother. He collapsed with all the grace of a potato sack, with fewer words to boot.

All was quiet as Henry shook his hand absently, his breath coming out as hissing huffs. Ignoring everything else, he turned and continued his retreat, albeit, more rigidly now that he was pissed as Hel. "Asshole," he muttered, the growl gone from his tone, disappearing around a corner.

It was less than he wanted to do, and certainly less than Simon deserved. But the sharp pain of split fist and wrist was enough to reign back outright beating his "cousin" fucking black and bloody blue. He hissed as he flexed his hand, looking down to see his knuckles bleeding slightly. "Shit," he cursed. It was the first time he'd outright punched someone. Why did some people do this for a living? It fucking hurt!

_'It's your fault she died.'_ Thoughts he hadn't felt in years were coming back full-force, and in spite of his anger, he felt like a hand had been slowly shoved into his sternum and began squeezing inside his chest, making it harder to breathe. He gulped at the air with a wheeze, trying to calm down and focus. _'She might have lived…'_

_'…if only you didn't exist.'_

He was already pushing aside the doors that would lead him outside when the physical pain suddenly abated.

Looking down at his knuckle, he was surprised to see a midnight black substance emerging from inside the split. It looked oily, shimmering slightly at varies angles from the fluorescent lighting. In a couple seconds, it _slurch_ed, disappearing back under his skin.

In just a couple seconds, his knuckles were as good as new.

He rubbed a finger over where the contusions had been. Other than being a little sensitive, it was fully healed. Not so much as a scar.

He blinked.

He blinked again.

He blinked for a third time.

"How high am I right now?" he wondered aloud, shuddering slightly. Whatever he'd been exposed to now officially came with not just audible, but active visual hallucinations now (his muscular growth didn't count, obviously). He had to breathe carefully, lest he start panicking anew. More importantly, he needed to deal with this. Fast. He needed to know how far the damage had spread, and what further side-effects entailed.

He'd never read Lovecraft's books, but hearing voices and seeing black goop as negative side-effects were pushing him toward unbelievability. If he was hearing the Call of Cthulhu, he had obvious qualms about that. Either that, or Hermaeus Mora was trying to make him his Champion by sucking him into Apocrypha. But that was just his inner nerd talking.

_"You are on the ground,"_ his brain buddy stated the obvious, _"so you are not very high."_

"Oh gods," he whispered, sliding down a wall until he sat on the ground. The weight of events was continuing to stack up. And now Simon had added to it in the most painful of ways. Before Henry knew it, one hand was gripping the wall to pull himself back up before he'd even seated properly. He was angry, and punching Snot hadn't even given him the sliver of satisfaction he'd been seeking. Back and forth. Back and forth.

_"Calm down human,"_ the voice ordered, and Henry felt a lurch in his chest pulsed up his neck, growing, causing him to shiver as though a breeze had caught his bristled hackles. The sensation moved to his head until it felt like a thousand ants were crawling all over his brain. What followed was a jolt, and the indescribable feeling of his whole body going lax. _"There. Your human biochemicals are so _touchy_. I had to flood your system with one to counter-act the other."_

"Wha- What the fuhh?" Henry slurred, trying to remain upright as his body once more tried to sit down. He wasn't just feeling relaxed. He was feeling outright weak right now.

_"We need more _num-nums_. Healing you last night and producing more of your biochemicals drained your body of its necessary nutritional stores. _This_ is why I told you to eat lots of _num-nums_. And waiting for you to digest is a long-waiting process."_

Was he just being chastised by the voice in his head? And what was with the _Num-nums_? He really was going crazy. Even now, thinking about what _should_ have happened, his body couldn't accommodate the proper physiological response. No sadness. And no anger at Snot for reminding him. He just felt… chill. _'Holy shit, I _am_ high right now.'_ High on a flood of Serotonin currently suffocating his brain.

"Right, _num-num's_," Henry muttered, smacking his lips hungrily as his stomach growled bitterly at its emptiness. However, he felt something like appreciation roll around in his chest. He'd should be in shock at the emotional ring-around his body was getting, but even that was incredibly numb right now. Fuck it! Priorities! He needed a vending machine right now.

_"I may – _may_ mind you – have also increased my mass a little, so when you get _num-nums_, get lots and lots of _num-nums_."_

He nodded absently, too drained to argue. He quickly suffocated any reemerging feelings behind the shell of indifference he'd built up over the years, using the subsiding chemical-calm to master himself once more before it could fade completely. It wouldn't do any good to dwell on it anyway. It was in the past, and he knew nothing he could say or do would change anything.

But Simon had brought it up so casually, and now, he knew he knew he had a powerful weapon against Henry. All those long-buried feelings had been brutally uprooted now. It would take more than a little time to bury it back where it belonged.

* * *

"Who knew that little Viking had it in him?" Ruff stared from the crowd that was dissipating, officially put off her lunch after that fiasco.

Tuff only grunted, too… what was this feeling? … second-hand whiplashed? …to muster a witty comeback. "I've heard a lot of shitty shit in my day. But that took the shit-cake," he grumbled, a frown on his face.

"That was just…." Heather stopped trying to find an adjective that summed up what just happened. There really wasn't any _one_ that could cut _that_ particular shit-cake… so to speak. Let's face it, all of that had happened in a few spare moments, with all the subtlety of getting hit by a brick. Still, she tried to keep the raw sympathy out of her voice. Henry wouldn't respond that well to it when… _if_ they saw him again today.

Fred whimpered worriedly, watching the corner Henry had turned with an increasing sense of foreboding and dread. "Shouldn't we go after him?" Henry had looked so stressed when he confided in him. And this would only make things more complicated if he decided to close up again before they could even begin to help him through it. This wasn't potentially just one step backwards; it was more like six.

"No," Astrid seethed. Her very aura screamed murder, as she turned around. And kicked the unconscious Simon in the stomach, causing the floored Viking to heave violently. He'd be laying there for a little while, since his cronies were all dealing with other issues at the moment. Once she was satisfied with her work, and had quelled the temptation to kick him again, she turned back to Fred, her eyes holding all the pressure of the deeper ocean depths. "We can't follow. Not yet. He needs time to simmer down."

_'Fuck! I can't put an ice pack on this!'_ she thought angrily, her fingers clenching open and closed, wishing she had something she could throw. There would be no easing this now. For all his intent, Snot might as well have gut shot Henry for all the help she could provide. Maybe now, some sense had been knocked into Jorgenson's head. But Astrid highly doubted it.

How did one account for emotional scars turned psychological shock? How much did he actually blame himself, and how much was just the very subject incurring his wrath? Even if this was the first time she'd seen him punch back, much less win, it still felt like a hollow victory.

There was no one to blame. Even if she knew Henry knew that logically, it didn't stop the bubble of self-doubt and what-if's from creating a monster of self-loathing. Once the idea had taken root, it was one Hel of job to weed it out.

"We'll check on him during training," Ruff offered. "He might be pissed right now, but I don't think he'd risk Hildr's wrath just to blow off some steam. If anything, he'll be bouncing back for a "Round Two"."

"We'll just have to wait and see," Astrid stated, feeling useless to help. No one deserved that kind of burden heaped on their shoulders.

And she didn't despise him enough to feel indifferent about it.

"Hey guys?" Tuff asked, suddenly looking perplexed. "Did anyone else notice Henry wasn't wearing his glasses?" More than a few of them frowned at that realization, while others frowned for other reasons.

* * *

Henry learned a couple things as he ate from the pile of vending food he'd amassed like a small trove. One: it paid to have a few bills in his wallet for moments like these. Two: having a job to provide said bills was a blessing, and he wouldn't have it otherwise. Three: getting shocked by a vending machine sucked ass!

He'd been inserting a few cod bills when the machine zapped his finger at the pay slot. His fingers went numb for a few seconds, but evidently it broke the circuit enough that once it reestablished, it went into an electronic stutter cycle, causing multiple foods to simply begin falling at random. This resulted in a large variety and quantity of shitty, over-priced, expired snack items; all for a very, _very_ low price. Crap vending machines – as it turns out – weren't so bad after all. He just thought of it as payback for all the shit the gods threw at him. He wasn't going to say no to extra _num-nums_.

Number Four: when the brain-buddy was _mostly_ happy, everyone was _mostly_ happy. Currently that entailed the soft and content croons humming in Henry's ears as he bit into a vending bran muffin (slightly stale, partially soggy, hold anything sweet). The sound strangely vibrated in and around his chest as well, the purrs resonating on a frequency that kept him calm and collected despite the shit that had gone down.

Five: having free time on his hands after someone dropped an emotional nuke right on his head was a very bad idea. Whatever was going on with him, it was proving an effective fallout shelter as he remastered himself, having had to do so more than once when his anger or sorrow flared up in the past. Having another voice in your head tended to help put things in perspective.

_"Mmmm,"_ headspace hummed with a disappointed sniff as Henry pealed the wrapper off his third dried cereal bar, shoving half of it into his mouth. _"We should be back to par soon."_

Henry turned to look at the large pile of empty wrappers he'd collected. "I'm eating like I'm a depressed glutton."

_"Then get depressed more often,"_ brain buddy commented back. Yeah, listening to the voice was a bad idea. _" Although the available choices in _num-num's_ is currently… disappointing. The more you eat, the faster we recover. "_

"That's not how it works," Henry stated, answering now that no one else was around to judge. It's not like it was going to get easier if he just pretended it wasn't there. What's the worst that could happen? Find out that it wasn't all in his head after all? Best to get used to it now, that "rolling with the punches" he was so good at coming back into play.

Just another thing the gods decided to boot him in the ass with. But fuck them and their celestial agendas! He was gonna own this like a fucking boss!

_"Oh? Now the meat-bag talks to me,"_ it sassed back, huffing slightly in annoyance._ "That's just how it works for me, and by extension, _you_."_

"I still think you're a result of brain damage caused by a bad dose of forcibly introduced drugs, something I'm still not sure why I'm calm about. Besides, it's not like I can openly talk to myself without people thinking I'm crazy." Henry thought it over for a moment. "Well, _crazier_." O-kay. This "having a dialogue with your headspace" was way too easy. Or, because it was all in his head, did that make it a "monologue"? Food for thought.

_"That's fair. But then, what is reality if not a construct of our own grand delusion?"_ Wow. Brain-buddy was… morbidly deep. Alrighty then.

"Subject to perception and bias," Henry answered with an honesty that bordered on sarcasm… or vice versa, chewing a little more before swallowing and shoving the rest of the bar in his mouth. "It's not like I was expecting it easy. Just wishing I wasn't getting the brunt end of people's bullshit."

_"If wishes were stars, there would be no night."_

_'Okay, deep _and_ sage,'_ Henry thought, pealing open another snack food on reflex. He may be crazy, but "crazy" was smarter than he had anticipated.

"Would be nice to know what I was exposed to though," Henry contemplated.

_"Me,"_ it answered simply. _"I upgraded to you from my previous meat-bag. Also, you were the closest meat-bag to transfer to, so that might be due to some of that "bullshit" you were referring to. _Pew-pews_ tend to make for bad hosts. Their diets tend to consist mostly of greasy proteins and starches. It doesn't taste good."_

"That… strangely answers everything _and _doesn't answer anything." Henry rubbed his eyes, realizing that his hands were sticky from the snacks he'd eaten. That didn't make any rational or logical sense. Unless his brain was processing the answer, but it still felt like he was missing something crucial. Something that would let him finally put it the pieces all together.

Absently, he wiped his hands on his pants before pulling out his phone to check the time. _'1:03 p.m. About an hour-and-a-half 'til Helheim.'_ He then absently poked at his arms, feeling the tangible, if not minimal, amount of muscle present. "Well, if this is real, I might as well put it to good use," he mused.

_"Just make sure to eat plenty more _num-nums_,"_ headspace stated. _"We need sustenance, not just your human equivalent of fuel."_

"So… a tune-up and maintenance, not just gas," Henry supplied in simile.

_"I don't know what that means, but if that's what works for your meat-bag brain, then I suppose."_

"Fantastic," he sighed in frustration. Leave it to his drug-induced brain damage to have a mind of its own that didn't understand vehicle references.

* * *

**Author's Note: (R&R)**

For those of you who thought Henry would be going through this alone: Well he's not. _That_ is the power of true friendship! When everyone else thinks you're going 'round the bend, having one or two people there to console you through it can mean the world.

Yes, Snot went _there_. Most of you will wonder why. I'm here to tell you. That all will be revealed in time and in context with the story. It's not immediately going to come out all at once, since this is a delicate process, and I've already hinted at it an unprecedented number of times throughout past chapters.

I also know most of you were expecting Henry to deal some more serious damage, or go full-rage-mode, or even longer lingering resentments. Nope. Pain is a surprising calming force especially when you aren't used to receiving it from your own violence, plus having a parasite flood your system with Serotonin would calm anyone the fuck down. Also take into account, that Henry has experienced shit like- or close to -this for a long time (lets remember, he's eighteen, so that accounts for _years_ of bullshit). He's used to "dealing" with it, and by "dealing" I mean "bottling it up".

And yes, he's also starting to talk to "himself". It's a lot easier to do when no one else is around. I also may have hinted at future abilities in this chapter, so if you decide to reread, do so carefully X)

If you have any QCC's (Questions, Comments, Concerns; respectfully), let me know via Private Messaging or Review. Any and all questions pertaining to future chapters, characters, etc. is subject to the SPOILERS! clause 9 section 24b of Form B-36.

That being written, please indulge my curiosity and let me know what parts you guys liked, what parts need work, and overall what you guys think about it :D _Fury_ is more or less in a Rough Draft phase, so I'll be editing it every now and again to implement improvements.

Don't forget to Review, and I'll read ya guys next time with Fury - Chapter 9 _"Assimilating Part III"_ I might be taking a short break either after Chapter 9, or Chapter 10. I'm not sure yet. I'm trying to finish up this section of the story and begin mentally refreshing so I can go at it again with a sharper outlook.


	10. Chapter 9: Assimilating Part III

**A/N: **Hey guys! SteinMon here! Long time no read. Sorry for the wait. I wish I could say I had a good excuse for taking so long, but mostly, it was just slow going and I was distracted by a number of other things (including, but not limited to: Work, work, work, other Fanfic's, sorting out new ideas, planning future chapters for other stories, a number of video games being released that I'd been eyeing for months, and work).

_**Trigger**_** Warnings: **None that I could place.

I welcome your Reviews. If you have criticisms, I welcome those too. Please keep them constructive. I want to grow as an author, and I can't do that if people aren't willing to critique, or only want to tear me down. I'm not here to please everybody, but I _am_ here to learn. That being said, I also respond to Reviews.

_**Review Responses:**_

\- Dragonholic: Ye-ah, they'd probably get banned once they ate them out of stock.

\- "Guest": Well, I've already gone this far with it, so I doubt I'll be abandoning it.

\- Andria Rainbolt: Will do! :D

\- vangian13: Time will tell. Time will tell.

\- Anonymous Noob the 2nd: SPOILERS! Both of those will be for me to know, and you to find out. :)

\- The Faithful Servant: No problems there... well, sorta.

\- AirCaptainBiggles: Well, glad you liked it. Here's that next chapter for ya

\- atomicsub927: Heheheh! I had to look it up, but I enjoyed that clip thoroughly.

\- "Eris": Again, unfortunately that falls under the SPOILERS! clause.

\- Purpleflame2: I'll be naming it from Henry's current perspective before giving it it's official name.

\- Jerry Z.Z: Thanks. I would agree with you normally about the world building, but this is a modernized Berk imbued by a large volcanic eruption. The size is different. The shape is different. The overall atmosphere is... about the same. I read ya though. It can get tiring, but its just me trying to describe something I can see vividly, and trying to share that with everyone else.

Yeah, I'm still on the drawing board about the summary, even after all this time. I keep tearing it apart, writing and rewriting, and nothing sounds... compelling. I'll still keep it in mind though. Maybe after I get a little more work done on the story, I'll get somewhere with it.

\- Now Account: Interesting song choice... Not quite my speed, but if I feel it compliments a scene, I wouldn't see why not.

\- Oslec44: After all this time, the next chapter is finally out.

***End of Responses**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own How to Train Your Dragon or Venom. Those rights belong exclusively to their owners, who I admire to the extent I can without having actually met them in person.

I would also like to point out that I don't own any media that may be mentioned as further enrichment to the story. Any topics or subjects (military and occupational) that come up are _not_ from a professional stand-point, but are written with as much knowledge I could garner through research, common sense, and from friends and acquaintances with experience in those matters. I may have also watched some YouTube :P

Without further ado. *Que the dimming of the lights*

* * *

Chapter 9: Assimilating Part III

Astrid tapped on a single key of her keyboard without actually pushing it, glaring at the computer screen as though she could mentally demolish the assembly of circuits and crystalline and a number of other "gizmos" and "who-dits" that Henry would undoubtedly be able to name off the top of his head like he'd been rehearsing the answer to her thoughts for a month.

_'__Haddock.'_ Her tapping increased pace like a metronome as one of her nostrils twitched. Her eyes scanned through her university-level classes, but she wasn't grasping any of it. And after about ten minutes of reading the same line over and over again, the tapping finally stopped, giving way to an unconcealed snarl from her lips.

She swung around to look toward the back of the computer lab. Like the last nth times she checked, the particular seat, for the particular person sitting next to Fredrick Ingerman… was empty. _Still!_ He was probably cutting class! The little shit!

But then again, she couldn't blame him. But if he wasn't present, then that meant he wasn't where he was supposed to be. And if he wasn't where he was supposed to be, she had no way of knowing whether or not he was okay. But of course he wasn't okay, and it was perfectly okay for him to not be okay; so it was perfectly okay for him to not be present. But if he wasn't present….

She turned back toward her own screen in a flurry of simple thoughts on 'Repeat Cycle'. And the tapping commenced as though it had never stopped.

Next to her, Heather was also trying to get her work done. You'd think after years of being Astrid's friend, she would have developed a tolerance to Astrid being… well, Astrid; and all her Astrid-ness. And she had. But this was like compacted blunt-force exposure. To the face. Now every time Astrid tapped on the one key, the vein underneath Heather's right eye unconsciously twitched in rhythm.

Then, it was too much.

Heather's hand snapped out, catching the offending digit before it could complete its downward stroke. "O-kay," she breathed through her teeth. "That's enough of that." The raven-head let out a breath of relief, gently setting Astrid's finger aside. "Now what's up? 'Cause you haven't changed pages for the last half-hour."

Astrid stared at her finger with her lips pursed in a frown. "Nothing."

Heather snorted, earning a glare in return. "Riiight. If that's "nothing", I'd hate to see what "something" is." She watched as Astrid continued to stare at nothing. "This doesn't happen to have _something_ to do with a certain auburn, who just happened to deck his cousin recently. And who happens to not be here like he should be?"

"Can we talk about _something_ else?" Astrid hissed back.

Heather just rolled her eyes humorlessly. "Give it time, Ast. If anything, look on the bright side: Simon won't be bothering either of you for a while." The bright side of things really wasn't bright enough. It was also highly unlikely. Snot was too dense.

"Mmm. Sure," Astrid placated, trying to end the conversation. If only she could be so sure. She didn't want to talk about Henry. She didn't want to _think_ about Henry. Unfortunately, moments like these didn't give her a choice in the matter. Nevermind she wanted to despise him on some fundamental level. He made it really hard to do that at times like these when his sarcastic crass attitude and shit-eating smirks were absent. Without those, he actually appeared susceptible to the slurs of others. First his dad (albeit, _completely _none of her business), and now Simon's shit. "The sooner all of this returns to normal, the easier it'll be on all of us."

"Including his dad. Though…." Heather left the rest of that unspoken. The moment Stoick up and left again, Dagur would follow.

_'Just great!'_ Astrid thought, now feeling worse than she already did. _'How do I fix this?!'_ Again, ice packs only did so much; and she couldn't just sock her in the shoulder to break the tension. Looks like she'd have to resort to – she shivered – _words_. "So… how's it been with Dagur back? I know it's only been a day, but… it's normally an empty house." A less than subtle change of subject.

Heather shook her head with a sigh. "It hasn't changed that much. If the Chief is busy, he's busy. We did have breakfast together though." She smiled a little bit. "It was nice to see him in something other than a uniform. He's more relaxed when he isn't working, though that might be his meds first thing in the morning."

Astrid nodded. Dagur was the example most young Vikings looked up to when the thought of serving Berk came up. First Lieutenant at the age of twenty, Aide to the Chief, complete and total badass. Probably had more security clearance at his age than anyone in Berk history. And he was originally from Berserk. You didn't fuck with _any_ those credentials. The fact that he was on medication, or that he was a good brother, was just barely sub-text in a _very_ long series of redacted documentation. She sniveled in friendly jealousy. He probably had enough black smudge to stop a war. Or start one.

"Any idea how long he'll get to stick around?" Astrid asked.

"Interested in my brother are we?" Heather asked with a good-humored snort.

"If I say yes, will you and Ruth stop throwing Haddock my way?" It was joke… but she was dead serious about that joke.

"Nope."

Astrid sniveled again, this time in resigned disappointment. At least Heather was smiling again.

"It looks like he and the Chief will be here for the foreseeable future," Heather answered the original question. "So unless Dagur gets an early morning call, we'll probably spend breakfast together. Maybe dinner if he doesn't work late.

Astrid smiled at her friend's enthusiasm. Even if at the back of her mind, she still wondered where her unfortunate house-mate was, it was nice to focus on something else.

However long it lasted.

…

Meanwhile, Fredrick sat three rows behind them, periodically taking glances at the seat next to him. He fidgeted, trying to keep his whines of worry inaudible, as his focus danced between his work and his absentee of a friend.

_'__Mmm! Don't panic! Don't panic! It's fine! He's fine! Just until tomorrow! ~The sun'll come out tomorrow!~'_ he sang to himself, just like his mom would.

If the singing to himself wasn't indication enough, the pudgier young man was so distraught, he forgot to occasionally sneak glances forward toward the person of his invisible affections.

But his work wasn't a problem. Worry or not, fidgeting or not, he was machined into his work with a focus that would have Odin blink his single eye in surprise. Fredrick Ingerman's fingers were slamming the keys with fervor that might have been Beethoven's final masterpiece. Every _click_ and _clack_ was strong and enunciated, slowly ticking away at his already low reservations.

_Snap! Snap! Snap!_

His finger broke through several keys at once, the repeated pounding finally breaking through as his normally restrained and gods-given strength finally gave way. Within a few seconds, the keyboard had cracked in half.

His face ran red with indignation. At his busted keyboard, at Simon, at Henry's "condition", at people making fun of his weight, at his pariah status, but mostly, at himself. And eventually, it was enough.

"_THOR FUCKING DAMNIT!_"

His hand slapped to his mouth with a _SMACK!_ at the perverse and uncharacteristic slur that escaped his tongue. He looked around, hoping no one else noticed. But everyone did notice. It was a monumental feat to bear witness to, and everyone present was shocked by it.

Fredrick Ingerman had cussed. And most spectacularly at that.

His red face went white as a sheet, wide eyes glazing over everyone else as they stared at him in disbelief. "Please don't tell my mom," he managed to mutter through his fingers. Oh! He'd be grounded for life if this got back to her. Maybe for his after-life too.

…

Astrid whistled to herself before getting a glance at Heather in her peripherals. She turned, watching as her friend took calm, deep breaths, her eyes closed as she did so. "You okay?"

Heather nodded, still breathing slowly. "The shouting startled me. That's all," she said softly.

Astrid frowned, half-prepared to bolt up and knock some sense into the Ingerman with the fury of Valhalla on her side. She didn't care how stressed he was over his bosom buddy; priority dictated Heather came first in her mind. However, her next words made her freeze.

"But honestly, hearing him cuss like that was… kinda hot," Heather admitted with a bright flush of red to her cheeks, absently twirling the end of her hair. "If he can get that worked up over a friend, what might happen if he was _really_ worked up."

The blonde blinked as she processed her words, lipping them to herself to make sure she had heard right. There was no mistaking that. Heather had just… _EWWW!_ She shivered.

"I'm not sure whether to vomit, or leave the room, _then_ vomit," she replied. Nothing about that had been "hot". Then again, Heather's unrequited affections were mysteriously aimed at the larger boy in the first place, so… _'Affection isn't just blind, it's deaf too,'_ she reasoned. _'And possibly senile. Maybe catatonic.'_

"You'll understand it someday."

"Sure. Thanks mom," she mocked. _'Yeah right.'_ Astrid was content with being single forever. At least she'd have the benefit of peace, quiet, and a life-time supply of ammo. Nothing but the soft slide of a whetstone across the blade of her throwing knives - and maybe her throwing axe - as she stared off into the forests of Berk.

Yep. That was the life. The life of a Shieldmaiden. Where she'd fended for herself, hunted her own meals, and cook-

Ymir's dissected bunions! How was she supposed to feed herself if she couldn't cook?!

_'__Crap! Maybe Haddock can bring a week's worth of stew or something?'_ she pondered, only to realize her thoughts had returned to her missing housemate, and worse, to his involvement in her life of (near) isolation simply because she had no housekeeping skills. _'Thor damnit, Haddock!'_

* * *

_Meanwhile…_

"_AAACHOOOO!_" Henry sniffed away the teary haze caused by his sneeze, blinking before returning to his task at hand. "Sounds like someone was thinking about me."

_"__That makes no sense,"_ Headspace stated. _"It's an involuntary action designed to clear your nasal cavity."_

"It's a joke."

_"Your attempts at humor are lost on me."_

"Clearly." Henry shook his head, moving back to the task at hand.

He hadn't felt like returning to the computer lab and getting stared at (big shocker there), so he opted to start early on the bane of his existence: Training.

With enough empty Calories in the tank to bloat the heaviest Viking, he began removing his civvies in favor of his training uniform, using the empty locker room for privacy.

_"Wait-wait! Slow down. I'm trying to learn how you use your funny paws."_

"Funny paws? Oh, my hands? What about them?" At least he could translate easy enough.

_"The last meat-bag I inhabited, I couldn't get his interchangeable soft scales off. It was heavy and uncomfortable."_

"Clothes," Henry simplified. It was like teaching a child… in his own head. Gods this was getting confusing really fast. "And why would you need to know how to take them off?" A valid question if he did say so himself. Call him weird, but he generally preferred his clothes on.

_"In case I finally succeed in consuming your mind and gain full and total dominance over your body. It would be a waste to finally have full control and _still_ not know how to change the soft scales."_ Well… it was honest at least?

Henry just rolled his eyes as he pulled on his military issue cargo pants up, tucked in his t-shirt, before making sure his belt was secure and level. He shifted in discomfort. "Aaand, my clothes are too tight." Thanks to his slim – but noticeable – gain in muscle mass, the already fitted training tee was a little more… "gracious"… to his form. He made to look at a locker room mirror, turning to get a side-view of himself. "Wonder if I can suck it in?"

_"You can quit preening any moment now,"_ his Headspace exasperated with a warble. _"Retain some of your minutely remaining dignity."_

"I'm not preening. I'm self-conscious," he corrected, taking another worrying look at his arms. Thor Almighty, he had triceps! "What if someone else notices?"

_"If the fierce female has not noticed, then I doubt others of your kind will."_

That… was an odd thought. What did Astrid have to do with it? Such thoughts were forgotten when Henry thought about the twins noticing before shivering and blotting his thoughts out with mental eye bleach and wiping it clean. There. Cranial space best used for other matters.

He left the locker room quickly, finding himself out in the sports field behind the "Gym" within a few moments. He inhaled quickly, relieved when the supple scent of pine invaded his nostrils. It was calm, and it helped Henry feel calm. But even as his thoughts began reorganizing themselves in the outdoor peace, his mind began drifting back to events that happened less than an hour ago.

_'"__At least none of us killed our mom!"'_

He shook his head violently, eyes bolting open as he set about doing anything to keep his mind from thinking. He led with stretching, attempting to loosen up his suddenly tense muscles. And there was some breathing. Lots. And lots. Of deep. Slow. Breathing.

_Fuck it!_

Something jolted in his body, and he jumped down with fervor, already doing push-ups. His form was perfect, and angry, and perfectly angry as he glared at the woodlands ahead. Every push up extracted an angry snarl, and every set down hissed an inhale. He wasn't just angry. He was pissed as Helheim.

"Come on," he grunted as he lost track on how many he had just pushed through. Was it ten? Twenty? Gods forbid, fifty?! "Come on!"

Pretty soon, he was adding claps. He wasn't hurting. That fueled his anger. An exercise that normally had him hurting within a minute, was now painless. Why?! No matter how much he pushed, the pain was denied to him, regardless of how much he longed to hurt so he didn't have to think about anything else but the pain.

Pain clarified. Pain focused. Pain rendered thought unintrusive. And it wasn't happening. There was a distinct lack of not thinking because there was a distinct lack of pain.

_'__It's all your fault. _Your_ fault!'_

One hand smashed into the sod, burying itself while the other crawled behind his back. He kept pushing, now down an arm as he tried over and over again to lose himself in agony. "Come! On!"

_"__Could you slow it down? Some of us have to _work_ to heal your muscle mass even as you tear it."_

He ignored the voice in his head, pushing angrily and desperately. Because it was all in his head. It was all in his head.

_"__Fine. Have it your way."_

A lurch shot through his neck as he was letting down, forcibly smacking his head into the grass; and just like that, he crumbled, falling face first into the ground with an exclamation of irritation.

_"__If you insist on being stupid, I can remedy that with… blunt force to trauma to the… head?"_

…

…

_"__I didn't think that one through."_

"Clearly," Henry spat, pulling his braced hand from the dirt in confusion. Since when could he blast through the sod layer? He must've been really pissed. Understandable really. "Why doesn't it hurt?"

_"__Your head? I assume its thanks to these green cultivated weeds you humans call "grass"."_

"No, my arms. Normally my arms would be burning by now."

_"__You mean besides the flood of biochemicals your body is producing? Really. You conscious humans produce a lot of biochemicals. Especially when you're mad._

_"__Besides that? Add in the rapid repair I've done to your muscle mass, the pain tolerance you've cultivated over your insignificant life, and the general alterations I've made to your body to make you more accommodating and less likely to perish prematurely."_ There was a short pause of letting it sink in. _"I'm hearing a distinct lack of gratitude."_

"I'm sure that's all the case, since you're just a figment of my trauma-damaged imagination," the human retorted sarcastically, far too comfortable with that statement than was good for him. He sighed as he rolled over to look at the sky, feeling drained without the anger and frustration to keep him afloat. It all just felt so pointless in the end.

_"__Ru-ude,"_ the Headspace grumbled. _"Though I suppose I can't argue with your doubt._

_"__In the meantime I suggest you learn to adjust. Right now you have half the self-awareness of a newborn hatchling, less than optimal control over your senses, and even less understanding of all that is occurring. And until I can form in any significant margin, it's up to you to use that fat-space between your audio receptors creatively, and hone such things to your advantage."_

Yep. He was nuts. As painful as it was to keep reminding himself. He could go on about the "don't do drugs kids" spiel, but it was getting old even to him. He took another breath, before moving into a plank position, and holding.

Maybe this whole "brain-buddy" thing was an extension of his cognitive awareness, since it continued to operate in time with his own current experiences with no pretense for prior experiences before inhaling whatever he did. Even if it was just him going crazy, it had insight, a whole separate point-of-view, to add to his own. That might be useful. After all, it had just said to hone such things to his advantage.

Maybe his hyperawareness fell under that too. He could become Berks first super-detective.

_'__Now that just sounds stupid,'_ he thought with an eyeroll, still holding himself aloft. He closed his eyes, trying to emulate something akin to focus as he became part of the world around him. To focus on everything, and nothing.

While meditation wasn't necessarily a Viking activity, and generally frowned upon – something about "laziness" and lack of action didn't appeal to the larger and hairy inhabitants – Henry had found it an interesting exercise in self-reflection and restraint. He had his feelings, and as life had taught him, his feelings most certainly did not have him.

And committing to it from the plank position just made it that much harder.

"Well, aren'' you a painful sight."

Henry blinked before letting himself relax, moving to stand in an instant. "Gobber? What're you doing here?"

_"__Another human? For a "runt" of your own kind, you sure accommodate yourself with a lot of them."_

"'Ello to ya too," the old mechanic stated sarcastically, walking limply across the sports field with a clearly miffed Captain Hildr standing a good thirty feet behind him, looking over some paperwork that clearly offended her as she scrolled through it. "Shouldn'' ya be in class?"

Henry just shrugged. "I'm literally semesters ahead of everyone else, not to mention taking advanced college courses that would make most Viking brains explode. I can spare one day."

Gobber frowned at that. "Wha' 'appened lad? Ya wouldn'' be playin' hooky unless somethin' was botherin' ya."

Henry tried to think of a good excuse, but the very act of attempting to do so would alert Gobber of said excuse. "Nothing." The old go-to. "Just needed to clear my head."

Gobber clearly didn't believe him, but shrugged it off. "Well, it'll please ya ta know that yur trainin' parameters are being changed."

"Changed? Changed how? Let me guess: Dad decided I needed to log more hours for my "insubordinate behavior"?"

_"__Training? What training?"_

Gobber dramatically cleared his throat. "By order of the Chief of Berk, and all that entails, yadda-yadda, bleh bleh bleh, I'm here to officially take over your training regimen." He leaned forward, his mechanical hand coming up to block his voice a little. "And between you and me, it was a doozy getting' yur ol' man to allow it. Ingrid and I had ta double-teamed 'im, an' 'e was still stubborn as ever."

"That's my father." Henry's lips pursed in confusion as he looked back and forth between Hildr and Gobber. "So… that means…."

"I'm gonna make sure yur only tussled about at a regulated pace," Gobber stated with a wide cheery grin. "I'll be ensurin' that ya progress properly, and without undue destruction to yur body. Afterall, I need someone to do the heavy liftin' in my shop without 'urtin' 'imself."

"Your concern for my well-being is overwhelming, Gobber," Henry replied sarcastically. "I could almost cry."

_"__I agree. We are not built for labor. More like killing things from the shadows. And what is this "cry"?"_

"Ah, don'' be doin' none of tha'," Gobber dismissed. "Besides, today, I'll be gettin' yur specs so I know wha' I 'ave to work with. Although… ya do look like ya put on a few pounds." Whatever the mechanics train of thought, he shook his head a moment later.

_"__Right, you cannot answer me in front of other humans without looking "the crazy". We will have to find a way to work around this."_

_'__Lovely,'_ Henry thought, not exactly who he was thinking it to.

Gobber seemed to drop a large polymer crate from out of nowhere right in front of Henry, causing the young man to jump. "We'll complete yur physicals at a later date. Now, while I 'ave whatever Hildr has given me," He gestured to Henry's former training officer, "I also know that ya've been pushin' too 'ard before. So we'll be skippin' them fur now."

"We don't have to," Henry stated, nervously fiddling with his pant leg. "This is the best I've felt physically in… probably ever. Best not to waste it."

Gobber eyed him like he'd grown a second head. "Ya sure lad?" He half-covered his mouth again. "Did thuh twins give ya somethin'?"

"Not today, and nothing more than triple-strength asprin." It was Henry's turn to be suspicious. "Why?"

Gobber looked guilty as sin, looking cock-eyed at the sky, rubbing the back of his neck, and half-whistling. "Eh, no reason. But their parents grew this fine hybrid tobacc'uh leaf. _Thaaat_ was the good stuff. Your father, Halvor an' I–" He winced realizing he'd said too much. "Bu' you didn'' 'ear none uh this from me. Understood?" Leave it to the old high school trio to break a few rules.

Henry just smirked as he saluted. "Sir, yes sir. Not like it's any of my business what you did when you were young and dumb."

"Darn tootin'," Gobber stated with a firm nod, already bending down to _click_ open the case tabs, pulling up the lid.. "Alright. Noticed ya were doin' thuh plank, so like I said, we'll 'old off on the physical stuff. Best treat ya at yur best."

_"__Is he calling us weak? We are at our apex and growing, you oversized, metal-limbed–"_

"If you say so," Henry stated quickly, interrupting "his" train of thought.

Gobber began carefully pulling out parts from the case, each from a position of carefully fitted and cut foam. "I remember Astrid distinctly mentionin' yur marksmanship a' dinner. So, we're gonna start with that."

"Um, Gobber? What is that?" Henry asked, looking over and mentally mapping the pieces, subconsciously attempting to put them together like a puzzle.

_"__That is a _pew-pew_. I swear to stars, if he points it at us, I will personally rip out of you and absorb the lipids out of him. _No_._ More_._ _Pew-pews."_ Wow. Issues much.

"This is Bessy," Gobber stated, demonstrating all the individual parts. "Or more professionally, a Loki GN-42. Best two-handed rifle on theh planet. Everything: the receiver, the barrel, the magazine, the stock, sight; _everything_, is interchangeable to match just about every other rifle type. Assault, Sub-Machine, Heavy Machine, Sniper. If it's two-handed, she's got the parts to change into somethin' else. Just like our infamous god of trickery. Just don'' tell the twins about it.

"In thuh hands of a professional, she can be fully changed out and modified in two to seven minutes, dependin' on what yur lookin' to shoot with. Not many of 'em made. Took real skill to change their function, much less operate and carry the pieces of multiple weapon classes with ease. Eh, never got thuh hang of it meself, stuck in a Roving Hall and all, but always kept one on hand."

_"__And why is he handing it to you?"_

"And that's… a real gun?" Henry asked, eyeing the weapon nervously. He'd used real guns since his unfortunate aiming days, mostly for hunting, but seeing all the metal and proper parts assimilation, it sure as Hel didn't look like a paint-ball replica. How would one even go about making a paintball version of it? Ohhh. Food for thought.

"Don't gawk laddie," Gobber teased. "Go on, give her a caress or two. She appreciates the attention."

_"__This is awkward. Can we stop?"_

Henry's mouth dutifully clopped shut as he was gently received the Assault variation with a low exhale and wide eyes. "She's beautiful…." He looked absently to the side in realization. "Great. Now I'm doing it."

He then quietly went through the motions of examining every bolt and cranny of its design. Ah! The frame was where the cohesion began between the multiple caliber types. That would explain why their were so few of them made. Each model would have to use a completely different casting than the original weapon in order to make it this interchangeable, and therefore expensive without enough people trained in its usage.

"So why bring it out?" Henry asked, aiming down the bare sights far off into the woods surrounding the sports field.

He could feel Gobber grinning. "A little bribery as well as practicality," he answered. "I need ta see wha' weapons suite ya best. Normally, I'd be observin' yur combat style first, but I figured ya'd wanna see the gadgets first."

_"__Ah. So you are being taught how to be a _Pew-Pew_… well that chips a tooth."_

He looked back at Gobber with a grin of his own despite his tag-along. "I'll admit, you have my attention."

"Standard fare is an Assault weapon, but standard don'' fit yur style," Gobber stated. "Now dependin' on yur preferred weapons, and general combat approach, your entire way of fighting can change, which means yur specializations can change. None-uh this, "one size fits all" trainin' regimen."

_"__Is that all he wants to know?"_ His body crawled in response. _"Best suited weapons are mid- to long-range, high-accuracy, preferably with an area-of-effect. Combat would be best suited to stealth and terror strikes. Darkness or stormy weather is the preferred time of attack. You will not have to worry about close quarters as long as I am present, but do try not to miss. I have a reputation to uphold and cannot have a slacking host."_

_'__Duly noted,'_ he thought, processing his brain-buddy narrowing the field. Well, insight was insight.

On the outside, "Adjustable mid- to long-range. High-accuracy, high-powered. Preferably something lightweight and maneuverable."

"Ya don'' ask fur much, do ya?" Gobber asked sarcastically. "But I'll getcha close."

The old mechanic took back the Loki GN without resistance, immediately getting to work pulling it apart. Henry watched in curious fascination, trying to memorize how the pieces fit, or twisted, or snapped together. Like a three-dimensional puzzle.

_'__I know what I want for Snoggletog,'_ he thought with a gleeful little gleam in his eyes, somehow looking for ways to build it better; lighter. That little ember in his mind was fanning for something to catch fire, to ignite some long-forgotten passion. To be _himself_ again.

"'Ere ya are," Gobber offered, holding out the newly assembled weapon. "Get a feel for 'er."

Henry gently took the newly assembled rifle, breathing deeply like he was holding something worth a million dragons. It was beautiful. Maybe not exactly based on the original intended design, but considering the number of pieces that went into it, Henry wasn't going to complain. A long barrel, capped with a muzzle break leading into the frame of a .50 caliber, bolt-action receiver, marksman stock, an up to 20x magnification (generally ideal for basic sniper shots) scope, and a twelve round magazine (empty of course).

_"__I do not understand what this… _pew-pew_ is for."_

"Tha' there is the spec design for a Gungnir Marksman Rifle," Gobber explained. "No serial number, no mark number. Tha' there is the epitome of Viking long-range design. Not many people use 'em. Too impractical for guttin' people."

_'__And it shows,'_ Henry thought disappointedly at that information. Vikings were a more "up in your face" kind of species. Snipers, marksman rifles, anything that prevented them from to seeing the white's of their foes eyes without assistance was too far away. If the design hadn't gone through modification, chances were, it wasn't at peak efficiency. Even named after the legendary spear of Odin, it was left on the sidelined path of weaponry in favor of Viking preference.

"So you too, huh?" he whispered to the rifle, as if empathizing with its overall abandonment. It didn't help that it was named for the unerring weapon of one of his preferred deities. The gun, thankfully, didn't answer back. If it did, Henry would have worried about more than just his sanity at that point.

He gently knelt down, opening the bolt to ensure the magazine was empty before the bringing the weapon up to sight down the scope across the field. "It's a little heavy," he mentioned aloud.

"It's a high-powered rifle meant for blowin' theh brains ou' uh someone from a couple hundred meters away. Course she's a wee-bit heavy," Gobber answered, still referring to it as a "she". Henry winced at the "blowing the brains out" part. "But-uh, can you sight 'er okay?"

"Whatcha mean?"

Gobber tapped his head in demonstration. "Yur glasses lad. Ya don'' 'ave 'em on."

_'__Oh. Right. I had those didn't I?'_ "It's all good Gobber. They were straining my eyes this morning. It was easier to see not using them." Leave it to him to forget he had spectacles on his face for over the past decade.

_"__Do not worry undersized human. You will not have to rely on those unnatural things you put on your face ever again."_

Gobber just shook his head with a sigh. "Youngsters these days," he muttered, exasperatedly rubbing his wholesome hand through his epic moustache. "We'll probably get ya workin' with a few other weapons," he stated, retrieving "Bessy" from Henry's hands, "an' test 'em out until we find yur niche. See how ya adapt an' all tha'. We'll get more to work with as we go."

It was this moment that Hildr decided to rejoin them, looking over the last page of whatever paper packet she had received from Gobber. "Everything seems to be in order Colonel Borkleif. Henry Haddock is now under your care. If anyone can get him up to snuff, it's you sir." She finished with a salute.

_"__I don't like this mentally underdeveloped gorilla of a female,"_ Headspace stated, and Henry was inclined to agree.

"That'll do, Captain," Gobber stated with a salute of his own. Henry had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. "I presume he'll commence with group drills as normal?"

"Indeed," she stated, turning to look at Henry without addressing him. "Maybe you can make something out of him."

Before Gobber could interject, Henry was already smirking. "I'm still looking for a study case." If she didn't know what he meant by now, then he was adding that to his "dissertation" as well.

Fortunately for her sake, her heated face answered that for him. "Perhaps," she muttered through seething teeth, "you would like a baseline for your new student. A before-and-now sort of comparison for later."

_'__Don't do it Gobber! It's a trap!'_ Henry thought, catching the sadistic gleam in Hildr's eye, as though she was gunning for him.

_"__Don't do it enlarged human. She is clearly trying to cause indirect bodily harm to my host."_ They agreed. Yay!

Gobber shrugged in indifference. "Can'' hurt. At least it'll give me a comparison."

_'__Thank you, Gobber. Your deductive skills are astounding.'_

_"__Yes, it very much _can_ hurt!"_

"Excellent," she said in much too cheery voice. "They should be arriving in a little bit." And she… was she skipping away? Henry wasn't aware that adults still did that, but it didn't bode well in any case.

"I don'' like 'er," Gobber stated with an emerging frown.

Henry deadpanned at his mentor. "Then why did you offer me up to the wolves?"

_"__I second this question."_

Gobber sighed glumly as he looked at his brand-new student. "Because if I said no, she'd immediately accuse me of favoritism. Teaching is a cut-throat. And if she 'as the chance, she'll pull ya right back under her thumb. Best to start this with a test, so that way when you whip her student's later down the road, it'll make me look good."

Henry's deadpan deepened. "So this is about you looking good. Not me learning anything, or furthering the military career I didn't want for my scrawny ass self?" He looked down at his arms and chest. _'Less-than scrawny ass self,'_ he corrected.

"I never said it couldn't be both," Gobber stated, with a shrug.

_"__We are doomed. And it's not even your fault this time, runt human. If it's not your own actions, it's your allies. We need new ones. Ones that won't get us killed."_

Henry smacked a palm to his face, sighing heavily in resignation. "Then I guess I get to play in whatever sadistic exercise Hildr has set out for me. At least if I die, I'll come back as a Draugr to haunt you."

He almost caved when he was pat roughly on the back. "That's the spirit!"

_'__I'm agreeing with Brain-buddy,'_ he thought. _'I'm doomed.'_

* * *

"Oh. _Yum!_"

Their little squad was walking from their individual chromosome-separate locker rooms. The twins immediately congregated, acting as a passive barrier between Astrid, and the Neanderthals (Clueless included). Or at least, they had been, right before Ruff caught sight of something she liked.

A lot.

Ruth Thornston licked her lips a little as she walked further ahead of their grouping, followed quickly by a suspicious brother and an irate Astrid.

"Oh for Thor's sake. What are you– Oh."

Leave it to Ruff to instantly home in on a tight fitted shirt with muscle definition. But Astrid had to blink a couple more times to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. Haddock happened to be in said shirt, talking with her Uncle no less.

_'__So… I'm _not_ crazy,'_ she thought, currently wondering how he built up a layer of muscle practically overnight. Was he training with someone? Were the twins using him as a "test subject" for their latest miracle cure? Was it just there, and it took time to notice?

"_Mmm_! Me likey," Ruff purred, practically sauntering over to that poor scrawn– _formerly_ scrawny Viking. Ruff already had a hand hovering over his tricep, prepared to squeeze.

"Ruff, touch my arm, and you lose a finger," Henry stated firmly.

"But–"

"Touch my sister, and you lose your manhood," Tuff stated firmly back.

"But I–"

"She was gonna feel me up."

Tuff considered this for a moment before he clutched his hand to his chest, looking away sorrowfully. "It would appear, I have no sister. Farewell! Adieu! I must go and… search for a replacement."

"Ugh! Fine!" she shouted in disappointment. "I won't touch the _boop_!" She gave said "_boop_" a forlorn longing look.

"Welcome back to the family!" Theodore cheered, a one-eighty to his previous demeanor. "But seriously dude, when did you lose the spaghetti noodles. They're not meat-steaks, but they're not… _not_ meat-steaks."

"I got sick and woke up with abs," Henry stated.

"Wow. Like a superhero trope?" "Dope." The twins answered.

"Like a superhero trope," Henry confirmed. See what he meant? He could literally state exactly what happened, and the twins rolled with it. No doubt. Just acceptance. Gods bless Loki's influence on them and their– Yeah, he better stop now, before he got carried away and thought something he'd really regret.

"Now tha' ya mention it, yur arms aren'' as small an' puny as they were," Gobber felt the need to comment.

"Thank you, Gobber. That didn't put a blow in my non-existent ego. Way to keep punching holes in an already sunken ship."

"Just sayin'," Gobber replied with an unapologetic shrug. "You twins didn'' 'appen to give 'im somethin', did'ya?"

"Less-than prescription strength aspirin," Ruff answered, shaking a small unmarked bottle that appeared in her hand.

Luckily, the crew officially caught up before things could escalate to "tobacco talk". "Uncle Gobber? What're you doing here?"

"Good to see you too lass," Gobber stated, waving his metal arm to his niece. "Got dibs on trainin' Henry here," he answered, slapping a hand on Henry's shoulder, one more almost bowling him over.

"What?! How come he gets more training?!" Snot shouted at him and his lackeys' approach. Astrid could practically feel the glares erupting from Snot and Crew as they attempted to visually cow Haddock. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he was glaring right back, his pupils wobbling between normal and shrunk.

"And you want more training?" Astrid asked, watching as their mouths clopped shut.

Gobber could feel the hairs on his arm, legs, and unshaven back stand up; his finely tuned soldiering instincts flaring to life as he looked between the Haddock and Jorgenson. He clicked his tongue slightly before leaning toward Astrid without letting either young man leave his gaze. "Wha' am I missin'? I'm sensing some open hostilities."

Even Astrid seemed tense, her normally indifferent demeanor toward either of them now a mixture of concern and anger. "I'll– I'll tell you later. Mom might need to hear it too."

_'__Ohhh. Now I'm worried,'_ the old mechanic thought. If his sister was being brought into this… _'I'll bring a spare change of me briefs… and meh earplugs. Just ta be safe.'_

"Alright all you useless, tasteless yak sandwiches!" Hildr shouted, marching into view of her squad-in-training before setting down the crates with everyone's gear. "Today, we have one of Berk's finest observing today, so we're going to do a little training exercise.

"Who's up for a fox hunt?"

_'__Oh fuck! Fuck! Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck! From Fuck-town, in Fuck-ania!'_

_"__Human, your _thump-thump_ is getting faster, and your muscles are tensing."_

Like bloodhounds, Snot and crew bayed their agreement. Sheep, Boar, and Dog all grinned like evil cats while Snot's attempt at stretch his face ended in a grimace as he gently massaged the darker part of his chin. He chose instead to give Henry the stink-eye for his pains. Clueless was his namesake. They all knew who the "fox" was in this scenario, and they were fully prepared to lay on the hurt.

Gobber winched at the implications, having half an idea as to what was about to take place, but knowing his hands were tied because of this brand-new situation he was in as Henry's instructor.

"Good. Private Haddock! You're the fox! Everyone, get your gear on! Once that's done, Haddock will have thirty seconds to run," Hildr instructed, barely suppressing a grin. "Now, get to it!"

_"__I do not know what this is, but it sounds dangerous. I propose we get this "gear" on first, and run swiftly before timing begins."_

Headspace didn't need to tell Henry twice. _'Agreed.'_ Henry did his best to practically step into his remaining gear, cursing as he put on the facemask. _'Shit! Forgot to clean the vomit smell out!'_ Well, pickers couldn't be choosers.

"Haddock, you okay?" Astrid asked under her breath, sliding on her tactical vest.

It needn't be explained why she was asking that question. But the question running through Henry's mind was, why was _she_ asking that question. "'Mm fine," he responded, donning his own vest and harness almost twice as fast as she had. "Just preparing for my eminent demise."

Before Astrid could blink, Henry was gone in a flash.

"Haddock! Get back here!" Hildr shouted, even as Henry bolted for the treeline at leg breaking speeds.

"The fox is leaving the building!" he shouted back, crashing into the forest with all the grace of a rampaging bear before it went eerily quiet.

Gobber was slapping his prosthetic knee as he laughed heartily, trying to keep his balance as the other soldiers-in-training stared in blank surprise at where Henry had disappeared to.

"Daaamn. That boy can move it," Ruff commented, frozen in a state of half prep.

"Gogogo! Move it!" Hildr shouted, even as they began scrambling to move faster. Sheep-Face even slipped and fell face first into the turf.

Astrid was the first one prepped, already pulling down her helmet mask. She didn't wait for anyone else, knowing the twins would probably finish with their gear next. Maybe.

As bad as she felt for Haddock right then, she set those feelings aside, letting her eyes narrow in focus. This was still the assignment. This was still the test. And she had no intention of failing. There was no other choice, and she wouldn't hesitate to hit him with paint splatter.

War was war. She knew that. And he knew that.

She was pushing herself to not fail, because on a real battlefield, you either win, or you lose. And even if you win, you can still lose. It was the paradox of war that few understood. You could fight for your life and still end up losing; whether your own life, or the lives of those around you. All it took was a well-placed bullet… or a very lucky mortar. You didn't have to be the target; just in the target's vicinity, and it would all be over.

Determination didn't necessarily make up the difference, but if nothing else, Astrid wanted to increase her chances of living. So if Haddock became part of the lesson, so be it. Maybe he would learn to survive a little better next time.

The moment she hit the tree line, her weapon was up and her mask helmet was down, giving her a base digital outline of the field, unmarked, and ready to be combed for the "fox". For the sake of her own advancement, she couldn't let him get away.

* * *

_Two Minutes Later…_

Henry hid.

That was as good as it got. When subjected to the position of "fox" more times than he could count, he had an affinity for hiding. Stealth was a necessity when the people gunning for you enjoyed it when they found you.

Well… most of them.

_"__What is going on? I understand we are running and hiding, but why?"_

"If they catch me, they'll shoot me," Henry answered, just loud enough to hear himself. He felt his pupils contract fast enough to hurt, blinking back tears as he tried not to gasp in pain. "It's an exercise to see if I can evade capture… or in this case, to see if they can catch me. I prefer to evade."

_"_Pew-pew's_,"_ Headspace responded angrily, a low rumbling growl echoing his chest and ears. _"The elder humans are teaching you to be nasty _pew-pew_ humans."_ Something about that obviously didn't sit well with Headspace, and Henry could agree to a certain extent.

"Just about," Henry confirmed, breathing deeply as he fled deeper into the forest, jumping fallen logs and foliage to keep from stagnating in one spot too long. It reminded him a little too much of last night, and getting shot at; minus the overpowering sense of hyperawareness. _And_ "slightly" less urgency.

Oh! Who the fuck was he kidding?! Nevermind that Snot and crew was hunting him! Astrid would wait to hunt him down, even if she had to wait at home for his return!

_"__Sorry human, but I can not have my host turning into a _pew-pew_. That would be unwise and embarrassing."_

_"__Now, focus,"_ Headspace commanded. _"Our most important sense is our hearing. Unfortunately, _listening_ may be a more difficult exercise for you to grasp, so pay attention. You have subpar levels of my senses thanks to my alterations. Learn to use them. Harness them. Starting with finding our prey."_

"And how do I do that?"

_"__You are naturally restraining any attempt to expand those senses, so you are not constantly overwhelmed. Just focus, and shriek if you need to get your bearings. You'll need to take off that stupid head-shell if you want to use your audio receptors efficiently though."_

Well, Headspace was technically helping him.

_"__Oh, and don't be a stupid _pew-pew_ or I'll shorten the distance between your stomach and your bowels. That is all."_

Or not.

He found a place to stop and pull his helmet off, now denied access to its digital HUD. "Oh, this better work. I'm now down face protection for this shit and the run the risk of getting my eye shot out." How do you turn on senses you don't even have an instruction manuel to? Explained to you by a vivid figment of your imagination?

_'__Oh fuck me!'_ Henry sighed. The gods hated him. Like… immensely. There _was_ some denial going on… he could admit that. It was easier to assume that this was all in his head, but admitting that it was real was a blow to his cognitive understanding of life and the universe, so he wasn't ready to deal with that yet. Denial it was!

_Snap!_

And like most incidences, the generic forest sound of potentially hailed danger caused his head to perk with all the grace of a startled deer. His head turned instinctively for his ears to catch sound as he crouched lower, his eyes narrowing to the woods around him.

_'__Use my senses, it says! I'll disembowel you, it says! It'll be fun, it says!'_ he mocked, taking a deep breath to calm himself before shaking his head.

Now how to avoid completely getting shot by his approaching assailant? _'Fifty-to-one says it's Astrid,'_ he gambled with himself, crouching lower under a layer of ferns. He perked his ears, trying to listen for any off sound that he could focus on. No magic on or off button for those supposed senses he was supposed to have.

Aaand, there! Footsteps. Soft for a Viking. And actually stalking through the brush instead of stomping with all the grace of a troll. He wouldn't hear the twins until they were right on him. Definitely Astrid. Simple process of elimination.

_"__Remember, they are prey. _We_ are the predator. Hide; stalk; pounce; and kill!"_

"How about… immobilize?" Henry countered under his breath. _And_, Headspace was potentially a serial killer. Lovely.

_"__Fair. The fierce female is entertaining,"_ Headspace agreed. Sorta._ "Besides, don't want to draw too much attention to us. You humans tend to frown at bodies and blood."_

_'__No shit!' _Henry swallowed thickly before breathing. _'One thing at a time.'_ Denial aside, he could sort it out when he wasn't in the middle of being hunted. Shifting slightly in his uniform, he tried once more to calm down.

He closed his eyes, trying to focus the range of his hearing by eliminating his vision. What he sought was a much more controlled version of what he felt in school. Instead of absorbing the sound of so many beating hearts, he listened for the one. The one he'd heard this morning in his truck. He just wanted to locate Astrid.

_BUM-BUM!_

The noise was louder this time. Sharper. Clearer. And–

_BUM-BUM!_

Holy shit! Soundwaves. He could "see" soundwaves. Several colorless pulses resonating in the environment, mapping everything around him in three-hundred and sixty degrees. Every leaf in the breeze. Every creak of the branches. One very, _very_ calm heartbeat. Each sound almost soaking through his ear lobes; and resonating through his forehead and around his sinuses. Wonder of wonders, he could also _process_ said info.

_'__Approximately fifteen meters, thirty-two degrees to the left, and getting closer,'_ he thought, wiggling his nose at the weird sensations vibrating through his skull. _'Oh, that is _gnarly_. I could get used to this.'_ It was "eye opening" to experience the world in a myriad of sounds and vibrations. Not literally, but one could understand the gist of it. Maybe he could– _'Worry now, analyze later,'_ he had to tell himself, before he started trying to test the effect and extent of his newfound… hearing? Gods, hyperawareness was a strange thing.

He crouched to all fours, stalking through the low but thick collection of ferny undergrowth as he attempted to move closer with minimal noise. It was an odd feeling: hunting while simultaneously being hunted. Preparing an ambush on someone. Turning the tables on the status quo… oh what the Hel. That was basically his life. Screw status quo!

He could "see" the resonance difference between a single large braid of hair flow and a helmet walking quietly through the forest, paint gun fully prepared to shoot him if he showed his face. She clearly wasn't on the side of mercy, so the only way to win would be to take her down before she saw him.

The barrel of her gun swept back and forth carefully, minded and mannered in a way that would allow her to open fire in minimal time. And she was uncannily silent. Probably to keep from alerting him to her position had he not been juiced up on bad meds. When it came to soldiering, she was superior.

When it came to underhanded, un-called for, and completely roguish attempts of attack… well him, obviously.

He breathed again, opening his eyes, physically feeling as said senses receded, almost as though they reflexively knew they weren't needed anymore. Absently, he felt his head, a little off kilter now that he wasn't hearing everything. _'Curiouser and curiouser,'_ he thought, only more reinforced in his belief that something was wrong in his head. Add kinesthetic hallucinations to the list. Maybe it wasn't just a drug, but stress induced by being shot at that night. Odin, this kept getting complicated, and he was running out of excuses to keep himself sane.

He crouched lower, his shoulder blades wobbling up and down to ease the tension that naturally built up before an attack. His head lowered, jaw gritting as the toes of his boots gripped harder into the ground. He just needed the right moment; surprise was the only way he could actually beat Astrid. Not that it had worked yesterday. But, persistence is key, right?

He launched from his position, pushing off harder and faster than he had intended, missing half a step in the attack before he felt the hairs on his neck prickle. He bent over backwards faster than a sack of potatoes, eyeing the butt of a rifle flying over his head.

"Found you Haddock!"

_'__Gaaah! Shit!'_ he panicked, fumbling his follow-up as Astrid threw a knee at his face.

_"__Shift!"_ Headspace commanded. He shifted backward on impulse; let the lack of lurch be noted. _"Step!"_ He side-stepped her firing her paint bullet. _"Pressure her!"_ Henry moved in closer, forcing her to step back to maintain optimal uncrowded distance. She naturally adapted to the range, utilizing melee in place of her weapon.

"You should be wearing your helmet," she stated, her voice slightly distorted by her own helmet as she swung her gun around to her back by its shoulder strap.

"Forgot to clean the smell out," he replied indifferently, moving to jab her ribs, only for her to raise her leg to absorb the blow.

"Looking to turn the tables?" she asked, countering with her raised leg in a side kick.

Henry side-stepped. "Or maybe I'm just tired of taking it like a champ," he shrugged, as though he didn't know the real reason himself. Because he really didn't.

She didn't speak any further, and neither did he. What was there to say really?

Thus, they commenced. Fist for fist, kick for kick. To the untrained eye, it might have look like little more than two near-adults striking with choreographed aimlessness, with unnatural fluidity and cohesion to their attacks or blocks. But if one watched carefully enough, there was a grace to their exchange. A kick here, a block there; a punch there, a deflect here. It was an exchange of two people who instinctively knew what the other was going to do, sometimes before the other knew what they were doing. Knowing each other since diapers and bath-time could do that.

Henry felt the difference compared to every other time he'd fought Astrid. His healed muscles were sore from use, but the soreness was fading the more they were used, adapting as they were stretched and contracted from stiffness. He moved and reacted faster, struck harder. He shouldn't have been surprised, but there was a large difference between knowing something, and experiencing it. That didn't even equate as his eyes easily following every move she made, or the hairs of his arms and neck flexing whenever he felt an attack incoming. Every sense was engrossed in this fight, as if they had something to prove. Somehow, he felt it wasn't fair to her.

Astrid was getting more frustrated the longer the fight lasted; never once sacrificing her defense in exchange for offense, but gradually hitting faster, and striking harder. She didn't want someone else to come along and "help". She wanted to be self-sufficient enough to kick his ass herself. Every second breath was a growl. Haddock had improved. More like skyrocketed. In previous matches, he'd occasionally gain the upper hand for a moment. Now, he was participating like he was simply riding out the fight.

"What… the… Hel?!" she hissed, trying to land blow after blow with no success. "What… Wheaties… have you… been eating?!"

"Not Wheaties. Frosted Flakes," Henry corrected, both somewhat surprised at how long he was lasting and how much easier it was to engage Astrid's growing ferocity. True to her skill set, the more frustrated she became, the better she was getting. "Because they're grrre–"

Astrid landed her first blow to his lip, cutting him off and sending his head snapping backwards before he could finish the cereal slogan. "Don't. You. Dare," she drew out. Gods that smart-mouth of his could grow annoying real fast if she didn't nip it in the bud.

Henry's body whipped around instinctively, his fist smashing into one of the goggled slots of her helmet, cracking the reinforced material and fizzling out half the HUD. _"Good, human! While a good chomp and shake to the neck would have been preferred, taking out her fake eyes is still a good attack since we are only trying to render unconscious and not kill or maim in any way."_

_'__Subtle. Real subtle,'_ Henry thought, backing up a little bit as Astrid threw a swiping kick while trying to take her helmet off. To say it looked funny to see her trying to manage both was an understatement. And yet, she somehow made it look natural and graceful. _So_ unfair.

And she looked pissed.

As if to add to the level of bullshit he couldn't handle. "Hey babe! Where are you?" a voice called out.

_'__Crapcrapcrap!'_ they both thought, suddenly ceasing their fighting as their spines grew an iron rod.

"Hide me," Astrid whispered desperately, immediately forgetting that she was supposed to be kicking Haddock's ass. And it showed. Her face was contorting back and forth between her previous frustration, and her current desperation.

_"__Ugh! It is that smelly prepubescent human that thinks itself prime alpha material,"_ Headspace commented. _"I can smell it's stench clear over here."_

"Hide yourself," Henry directed, the "fox" already looking for a hole to dive into.

_"__Human, that is not how you build rapport with the female kind. She is requesting your help hiding from a male she finds undesirable. Score some… how do you humans say? …"Brow-nay Points" with her. Although, I don't know what this has to do with the fuzzy fur above your eyes."_

Henry growled and grumbled as his head whipped between Astrid and open forest before he huffed in irritation. _'Stupid Headspace!'_ "Fine!" he whispered harshly, grabbing Astrid's hand and pulling her along roughly. "Only 'cause Simon is a massively bigger pain than you are."

"Don't jerk ya jerk," she hissed back, trying to pull away. For Haddock, his grip was surprisingly iron-clad. Unfortunately, that meant any force she extended her way was pulled back his way like a rubber band, causing her to trip into him.

"Shit!" she yelled, even as they both went tumbling, rolling for a moment under the ferns and undergrowth until they heard a hollow _thunk!_

"Ow," Henry moaned, blinking open his eyes from the knot he now had on his head from smacking into a fallen log and the sudden weight that had slammed into his torso. He blinked again as he tried to breathe, still feeling weight on his chest.

_"__Smooth host-human. _Very_ smooth."_

"Ugh. Ow," Astrid moaned, wincing but for the most part unharmed thanks to landing on something more-or-less soft. She blinked.

She'd landed right on Haddock's chest, half-straddling him in the most stereotypical fashion, it might have been funny if it wasn't outright stupid and repulsive. So there they were, staring eye-to-eye like some terrible and cheesy head-over-heels rom-com, their noses a solid two or three centimeters apart. However, the precarious situation they had found themselves in was surprising enough that they both had momentary lapses of judgement and sanity.

Astrid had never seen Henry up-close without his glasses (or up-close at all for that matter), so imagine her surprise when she found it suited him better without them. She was also close enough to be begin counting the freckles just under his eyeline… _if_ she had wanted to. And there; that little birth mark on his chin. As a bonus, his green eyes were easy to look at; neither intense, nor passive, with a bright spark of life in his irises that somehow made her draw in a half-breath. But there was this almost imperceivably look in his eyes, like something was swimming just underneath the surface of his dilating pupils. Almost… dangerous. It could be worse. He was still gently holding her forearms from where he had pulled her close to break her fall… and it wasn't all that bad, if not a little tense. It was kind of– _'Oh Freya! Shut the fuck up!'_

Henry was still getting used to the myriad of ways his senses were adapting. This morning was chaos, and Hel in a handbasket if it wasn't getting progressively weirder. Sure he had seen a lot of stuff he never really noticed about Astrid before in the truck this morning. But now he had a very close view of those freckles time had tried to erase. And now he was face-to-face with a snatchable nose, two lips pursed in a half-drawn breath, and the distinct proximal scent of…_ snn snn_… … Was Astrid washing with THOR Blood Mist shampoo (distinctive by the all-natural red berry scent)? That was very… _very_ Astrid.

_"__Wow. Remind me to reduce your instinct drive tonight while you sleep. Your hormones are skyrocketing. However, of the females you could potentially copulate with, I approve of this one. But I don't believe now is a good time."_

As fun and flowery as said momentary lapse in judgement was, all it took was barely a blink on either party's end.

"What the fuck Had–?!" His hand was quick to slap a hand to her mouth, making a shushing face before trying to subconsciously hide deeper in the undergrowth, jerking his head for her to follow. Seeing no other choice, she complied, doing her best to keep her movements minimal. It was a… compromising position after all.

"You hear that?" Snot. Of course Snot. Ever aspiring to win the affections of Astrid. Unsuccessfully one might unnecessarily add.

"What now?" Dogsbreath. Henry was curious how his balls were doing after how many times in the past few days he'd been properly nailed.

"I know the sweet serenade of my Astrid's voice anywhere," Snot declared. "She's gotta be around here somewhere."

_'__Was he talking about her cussing?'_ Henry wondered, backing himself closer to the log as if hoping to make himself harder to see. Camouflage only did so much. _'How was that a–? You know what? Never mind.' _Astrid's head smacked promptly into Haddock's shoulder in exasperation, her nose scrunching and her teeth seething. Henry would have felt sorry for her if their current position wouldn't so compromising if anyone found them.

"Yeah. Unless she's still chasing down Useless." Sheep-face. How were his taser burns doing? Was his arm still bent out of shape? "What are we going to do about him? He's growing a backbone."

"Huh? What happened?" Thank you for your input Clueless. You're a real gem of society.

Henry could just imagine Simon rubbing his jaw, trying hard not to laugh with Astrid smirking right at him. Clearly, they were on the same line of thought. No sooner had their eyes met, they looked away quickly.

"Well, we can always pepper him with paint when we find him," Doggy stated.

"You mean if my little huntress doesn't get him first," Snot boasted. "But I'd rather knock him down a peg myself."

Astrid smacked her head into his shoulder again, a little harder this time for her pains.

"Eh? What's this?" Both of them stiffened, listening as less-than quiet footsteps drew closer.

_'__Stupid camo's not working. Deh-deh-deh, we're dead!'_ This was it. They were going to get caught like this. All because he just had to feel sorry for Astrid. Oh gods! What was Ingrid going to think? They _lived_ together for crying out loud! The implications alone could decimate the Hofferson family name! There was no recovery from this! No amount of "This isn't what it looks like!" was going to fix this.

The footsteps finally stopped, and both young adults closed their eyes to brace for the inevitable end of their social lives. Helheim would be a bitter release.

"Hey guys! Look at this!" They couldn't see what was happening, and they probably didn't want to. "Someone's helmet."

Astrid's eyes bolted open and widened. They must have found it from where she had thrown it.

"That's Astrid's helmet," Snot stated. It didn't take a genius to know that he had taken it and was looking it over; probably eyeing the busted eyepiece. "I swear to Thor, if that Hiccup has hurt _my_ Astrid, I'm going to tear him limb from limb! With my face!" Que exasperated eyeroll of relief from both of them.

_"__I do not believe that is anatomically possible for your species. Your teeth are too dull. And your jaws are weak. Hence why he crumbled after you struck him."_

"Nah! Chances are Astrid threw it at him," Dog stated. "Come on. We're probably missing all the action."

_'__Not as much as you would think.' _Henry had to remind himself to breathe normally, lest he hold his breath and accidently exhale to loudly and give away their position. They waited as the boots retreated. It was stiff. It was uncomfortable. It was _waaay_ too close for comfort. But by gods, they waited. They were taking no chances of getting caught.

Carefully, he tried to turn on those senses his Headspace was so proud of, reaching out for any indication that they hadn't left. Stupid thing wasn't working. Where was the "On" switch for this thing? "I think they're gone," he whispered, not moving an inch.

"Are. You. Sure?" she whispered, barely lifting her head. She was practically speaking into his camo to muffle the sound, looking up at him from their prone position. He had to blink away before she bat the eyelashes of her pretty blue eyes.

"One way to find out," he answered softly. "Just make sure you rip away like a band-aid. Nothing slow."

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you _want_ to move slowly from this position. It's a little snug for my tastes."

She practically jumped at the chance to get away, pushing off of him as fast as she could. Unfortunately, she pushed into the ground to hard, slipping forward in the dirt, impacting forehead first into Haddock's chin.

"Son of a… half-troll," she winced, gripping her sore head. "What is your head made out of?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Henry stated back, rolling his sore jaw. This didn't sound like a repeat of this morning at all. Nope. No sir.

"Oooo! Love on the battlefield."

"I'd say she could do better, but she really can't."

Both of them were already jumping to their feet, everything else forgotten as they glanced around for the errant and familiar voices. They found the twins squatting and hanging from some tree branches, looking down at them with clear mischievous smirks on their faces.

"Did we… interrupt something?" Ruff asked, pausing purposefully with a growing leer.

"Yeah. Clearly, they were attempting to suck face," Tuff answered. "~Henry and Astrid, kissing by a log; ea-ting face just like a hog. First comes–~" He was cut off when a piece of wood smacked him in the face, causing him to fall and swing by his legs on the branch he'd been perching on. "Owowowwww! I am hurt! I am very much hurt!"

"I will kill your brother Ruth," Astrid seethed, her fingers twitching like she wished she had a throwing knife on hand to finish the job, "if he doesn't keep his mouth shut."

"He just calls it like he sees it," Ruff stated nonchalantly.

"_Grrrr_." Astrid proceeded to storm off, stomping through the woods with all the grace of a poked bear.

Ruff just wiggled her fingers as she waved.

Henry flapped his arms in a perfect "what the Hel?" gesture. "Really?"

"Really really," Tuff stated, swinging back up to his branch.

"Hey, aren't you still the fox?" Ruff called down.

_Pfft-pfft_. Both twins ended up with paint splatter square in the middle of their chests.

Henry lowered Astrid's own paint weapon, head tipping to the side with a bored expression. "With that weak sauce, the fox lives another day." He sighed angrily. "Next time, don't be gross. Astrid already hates me and you're only making it worse."

"The tension between you two is exhausting and needs release. Just bone already!" Ruth stated with a grin.

_"__I hate to agree, but…."_

Henry smacked his head against the barrel of his stolen weapon before aiming it and shooting them again.

"Hey!" they protested.

Henry just ignored them, privately shivering at the thought of… _that_. _Bleugh!_ There were a lot of things he'd like to do in life. Astrid was _not_ one of them. But he'd be the first to admit, that whole… thing, _was_ really weird. Fortunately, he had potential impending mental issues to strangle any attempt to think about it.

"Now pardon me while I go hunt down Snot and his gang. I need to blow off some steam," he sighed, feeling his muscles coil in reflex. It felt good for some reason.

"If you want to blow off steam– And he's gone." Ruff pouted, turning to her brother. "What do you think?"

"I think if we're going to Parent Trap our friends, we'll need better incentive," he stated with a sigh. "Besides, we know they were actually hiding from Snot." He frowned in thought. "I'd give it some time though. Let him heal up a bit before we try subtly reprogramming his thinking."

"Fair," Ruff agreed, sighing in defeat. At this rate, it was going to take forever.

* * *

**Author's Note: (R&R) =** As mentioned last chapter, I will be putting this on a hopefully small hiatus while I renew and refresh my mind so I can tackle this again with a sharper focus and perspective. It _shouldn't_ be long, but I can't say how long it'll be. It could be a couple weeks, it could be a few months. Either way, I'm here to reassure you guys that unless something extreme happens, I'm coming back. Take care!

Interesting developments all around.

Henry's encountering just how much he's changing (yay for Puberty 2.0!) and all the bull crap that's still going to get thrown at him. Yes, he's still human. He get's mad, confused, embarrassed, and resentments can still pop up, even if it seems like he's fine the next moment. This isn't a soap opera. Emotions bounce around, but the effects still linger and bleed into following moments. And he's learning right now. So all in good time.

Some foreshadowing, and a little drama. Eh-heheh!

If you have any QCC's (Questions, Comments, Concerns; respectfully), let me know via Private Messaging or Review. Any and all questions pertaining to future chapters, characters, etc. is subject to the SPOILERS! clause 9 section 24b of Form B-36.

That being written, please indulge my curiosity and let me know what parts you guys liked, what parts need work, and overall what you guys think about it :D _Fury_ is more or less in a Rough Draft phase, so I'll be editing it every now and again to implement improvements.

Don't forget to Review, and I'll read ya guys next time with Fury - Chapter 10 _"Who Are You...?"_, followed eventually by Chapter 11 _"What are We...?"_


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